By the time you get to Easter Sunday,
You have no desire left to pray,
Say responses, sing refrains
Or ever go to mass again
No reflecting on theological things
Or the message the gospel brings
No introspection, no confession,
No angels, saints or intercession.
No rituals befit the Risen One
It’s finished, the work’s been done,
What’s left is what the angels said:
Why seek the living among the dead?