I tried to kill it in my bed, I gagged it with a pillow, But awoke the nuns inside my head. - Nick Cave

In heaven His throne is made of gold,
Where the ark of His testament is stowed,
A throne from which I'm told all history does unfold,
Down here it's made of wood and wire,
And my body is on fire,
And God is never far away.

God has matured. He is not the impulsive, bowelless being of the Testaments - the vehement glorymonger, with His bag of cheap carny tricks and his booming voice - the fiery huckster with his burning bushes and his wonder wands. Nowadays God knows what He wants and He knows who He wants.

Straight in the arms of the city goes Huck,
Down the beckonin' streets of op-po-tunity,
Whistling his favorite river-song...
And a bad-blind nigger at the piano puts a sinister blooo lilt into that sing-a-long,
Huck senses something's wrong!