Well I’ve worshipped lots of different gods
and I’ve met a lot of silly sods
with their strange beliefs everywhere I’ve bin
and I’ve asked my soul to comprehend
about Christian, Islam, Hindu, Zen,
I’ve met priests and chiefs, trying to cleanse my sin.
Religion is so black and white.
What’s wrong for some, for some is right
and everyone’s got their own good sense
and I’m blowed if I can mediate
between good and evil, love and hate
so I’m sitting here on the fence.

I’m agnostic.
I’m no mystic.
I have no truck with religion.
Call me simplistic
but I’m fatalistic
and I keep a pet homing pigeon.

Well, I’ve had Jehovah’s Witnesses
on my doorstep, quoting Genesis
and they always know they’re the Chosen Few.
I’ve met Mormons from the USA
in their crow-black suits like birds of prey
and they’ve prayed for me (very kindly too).
If only I could make them see
their interpretation’s not for me
but what’s the use? It would take all day
to explain my universal view
about God and man and who made who.
I’d just end up having to say:

I’m agnostic,
I don’t smoke a joss-stick
no, I cannot join your religion.
My metaphysic,
in bonds of elastic,
is tied to my pet homing pigeon.

This agnostic’s
a sceptical rustic,
yes, I have no truck with religion.
I am artistic
and thus pessimistic:
I only believe in my pigeon.

Well, I don’t pretend to preach to you
and I’m not a spiritual guru
cos there’s so much faith; very little proof.
You can be what ever you insist,
be a Buddhist, Jainist, Methodist,
and I hope your god isn’t but some spoof,
and I hope sincerely you will end
on a silver cloud one day, my friend,
with harp and wings in the realm sublime
and if up there you chance to spy
my homing pigeon, just untie
my epitaph, written in rhyme:

“I was agnostic
and idealistic,
I wanted an earthly solution.
Made out of plastic,
my dreams were fantastic
And dreams are a god’s constitution.”