Firstly, the title is spelt how it is deliberately. If you know of the “grate” feel free to leave a comment to explain it to the others. Anyway, the song is obviously inspired by the latest bestseller by that exceptional functional alcoholic, anti-theist and general arrogant bastard known as Christopher Hitchens. The song itself is the kind of anti-religious polemic that is rapidly becoming my (and Mr Hitchens’) usual shtick.

The music itself has nice groove to it, and if you listen closely you’ll notice a distinct lack of death growls, or banshee screams. Sure, the verses are that snarl that I probably picked up from classic megadeth. The chorus is proper singing I guess, or at least as close as I can get. As well, this is the last song recorded with the macbook builtin microphone so the vocals should start sounding really good in a fortnight (since we have an instrumental next week).

Anyway, I hope you like it, or hate it – any kind of strong reaction is great. If you do, tell a friend (or enemy), post about my music on your blog, start a protest campaign with the help of your local “family values” group, get my url tattooed on your forehead. Basically do something to spread this to others. At the least you could leave a comment, or send me an email. To do any less is basically stealing, since you are getting these awesome future classic tracks for free.

Lyrics:

Verse 1:
A kind of cancer
Purporting to bring the answer
Virulent and malefic
But concealed in the vivific
Destroying the mind
The sighted now are blind
Imperilment of our kin
The enemy is within
Always it is with us
Its guise regularly adjusts
For adaption to varied times
And to hide its varied crimes
It is not underground
Just take a look around
The infection is everywhere
And you wonder why we despair

Chorus:
God is great, cult of hate
As religion poisons everything
God is not, fucking rot
As religion poisons everything

Verse 2:
Fortunately the truth
Has been found by the sleuth
Of science and history
To make gnosis of mystery
The genesis of evolution
Archaeological contribution
Inquisition by the sceptical
Like cleaning the spectacles
But religion continues to spread
Like a parasite of the head
And we are called intolerant
For our cautionary chant
For we have no magic tricks
To usurp your Sunday fix
All we have are the facts
And sin to help you relax

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