My soul is spindly, raw,
yet it rests utterly in the desert.

One, two, three.

Four.

One.

Don't tell me your Theology,
     let's go and have a drink.

If you kill me because I won't listen to your Theology,
     it doesn't matter.

But if we have a drink together
     we have left Theology so far behind
that no Church Doctor can lay a finger on us.

One.

Two.

Three.

There are so many Avatars
     that no one can keep track of them:
I stopped counting long ago.

One.