She likes to keep God out of church
Especially when she prays:
All in its place, all safely stored
For some rogation day....
The paradox is so apparent
The sense absurd, but all too real;
The nonsense is arrant
But she just wants to feel comfortable
A pound in the collection-box
A name-plate by the aisle;
She always wears a hat
For He'll appreciate the style
Pays no attention to the sermon
Christ in himself has no appeal
The social custom is the turn-on
And she just wants to feel comfortable
Treading not on her illusions
I will not walk upon my own:
We stand among the creature comforts;
We're standing on the stockpiles of first stones
Yes, we stand on the brink of the Ultrapower
Assume it's a proper place
View the living hour by hour
In the first person singular case
On with the usual, complacent
Wait for the mortal wound to heal
When the abyss is adjacent...
What right have we got to feel comfortable?
On with the usual complacency
On with the customary zeal;
She doesn't need to match a valency
She just wants to feel comfortable
It's her blindness and her blessing
That the thought will not occur
That heaven, when it comes, might have
No special place for her
She'll never look at the enigma
She doesn't want things quite that real
Oh, that's some kind of stigma –
What right has she got to feel comfortable?
What right has she got to feel comfortable?
She doesn't want to think about it
She doesn't want to talk about it
She doesn't want to look at it
It makes her feel uncomfortable