A Million Miles Away

Jesus lives a million miles away.

She’s got a summer home on Georgian Bay.

Christ, she’d love to buy you all today.

But Jesus lives a million miles away.

I watched with mild amusement on my coloured television.

Children bought like knick-knacks at the low, low cost of one small black to go.

I walked away and diagnosed myopia with this world vision

‘cause from where I stand there’s something wrong with this remote control.

There’s a picture of you wedged amongst a thousand of their sole begotten daughter.

Your life’s become a hobby that fills them with their obese western pride.

And they toast themselves as their turn your whine into a well of safer drinking water.

Why don’t you write them? Tell them how your older brother died.

A buck a day is all they pay for a salty conscience soothing ocean buffer.

Hop a liner. Catch a train. Show up on their doorstep in the night.

Brother spare a dime, I asked. They just smiled and said, hey, times are tougher.

Check their home for charity as it begins to disappear from sight.