Tim Minchin - Sam's mum | Текст песни

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• Tim Minchin
• Sam's mum

I have an apology to make,
I’m afraid I made a big mistake,
I turned my face away from You, Lord.
I was too blind to see the light,
I was too weak to feel your might,
I closed my eyes,
I couldn’t see the truth, Lord.
But then like Saul on the Damascus road,
You sent a messenger to me and so,
I have had the truth revealed to me.
Please forgive me all those things I said,
I’ll no longer betray you, Lord,
I will pray to you instead.
And I will say thank you, thank you, thank you God,
Thank you, thank you, thank you God.
-
Thankyou God for fixing the cataracts of Sam’s mum.
I had no idea but it’s suddenly so clear now,
I feel like such a cynic how could I have been so dumb.
Thank you for displaying how praying works ,
A particular prayer in a particular church,
Thank Sam for this chance to acknowledge this omnipotent ophthalmologist.
-
Thank you God for fixing the cataracts of Sam’s mum.
I didn’t realise that it was so simple,
But you’ve shown a great example of just how it can be done,
You only need to pray in a particular spot,
To a particular version of a particular god ,
And if you pull that off without a hitch,
He will fix one eye of one middle-class white bitch.
-
I know in the past my outlook has been limited,
I couldn’t see examples of where life had been divinitive ,
But I can admit it when the evidence is clear,
As clear as Sam’s mum’s new cornea.
Extremely clear!
Extremely clear.
-
Thankyou God for fixing the cataracts of Sam’s mum.
I have to admit that in the past I have been skeptical,
But Sam described this miracle and I am overcome.
How fitting that the citing of a sight-based intervention,
Should open my eyes to this exciting new dimension.
It’s like someone put an eye chart on the wall in front of me,
And the top five letters said I C G O D.
-
Thank you Sam for showing how my point of view has been so flawed.
I assumed there was no God at all but now I see that’s cynical,
It’s simply that His interests aren’t particularly broad.
He’s largely undiverted by the starving masses,
Or the inequality between the various classes.
He gives out strictly limited passes,
Redeemable for surgery or two-for-one glasses.
I feel so shocking for historically mocking.
Your interests are clearly confined to the ocular.
I bet given the chance you’d eschew the divine,
And start a little business selling contacts online.
-
Fuck me Sam, what are the odds that of history’s endless parade of gods,
That the god that you just happen to be taught to believe in is the actual one and he digs on healing,
But not the AIDS-ridden African nations, nor the victims of the plague nor the flood addled Asians,
But healthy, privately-insured Australians, with common and curable corneal degenerations?
This story of Sam’s has but a single explanation:
A surgical god who digs on magic operations.
No it couldn’t be mistaken attribution of causation,
Born of a coincidental temporal correlation,
Exacerbated by a general lack of education,
Vis-a-vis physics in Sam’s parish congregation.
And it couldn’t be that all these pious people are liars.
It couldn’t be an artifact of confirmation bias.
A product of group think,
A mass delusion,
An Emperor’s-New-Clothes-style fear of exclusion.
No it’s more likely to be an all powerful magician,
Than the misdiagnoses of the initial condition,
Or one of many cases of spontaneous remission,
Or a record-keeping glitch by the local physician.
-
No, the only explanation for Sam’s mum seeing:
They prayed to an all-knowing superbeing.
To the omnipresent master of the universe,
And he liked the sound of their muttered verse.
So

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