Camden Gaithright, sick of sinning, Abandoned life for new beginnings. Searched for God despite his spinning. Found his Lord in stitches, grinning. "Oh, my Son, what brings you here?" His Eminence could see quite clear. "For everything you held so dear, I watched you terrorize with fear." "This is Camden—whoreson, rat." Gaithright said, and so he spat. God just smirked, and so he sat. "This is Camden—daft at that." Unfazed and headstrong, eye to eye, Each just stared as years went by. Old and worn the stooge then cried, "I may be a fool, but you, sir, lie." "Every day I sat and looked At miracles you’d surely cooked. I wondered why the men you’d hooked Deserved each miracle they took." "For when I stared upon the moon, Whispering prayers; a broken croon, My fate was woven far too soon. No miracle recalled my tune." Just like a father, glowing face God turned round his time and space. Camden Gaithright found his place In the loving warmth of His embrace. Heaven spent and Heaven changed, A filthy man came filth estranged. To every plan of God arranged, A God excepting is a God deranged.