Speak of the devil

Speak of the devil, here I am.  A state of contrition is where I've been.  You love me, you hate me.  Here, we go, again.  Robotic responses never seem genuine.  I'd rather you kill me than ignore me.  It seems silly; our story.  I'd rather die of this cancer than live with this medicine.  Speak of the devil, I'm not your friend.

Your god does not exist but mine does.  We both can speculate on who's wrong as we discuss what once was.  How we got here used to be unimaginable.  Can we remain amicable?  I'll even settle for civility.  Oh the humanity, speak of the devil. 

Give me a minute to play devil's advocate.  Your water to wine miracle is your apathy from passionate.  Even on this cross, I still feel inadequate.  And if you're expecting some second coming, I won't be around for it.  Speak of the devil, I'm just some televangelist.  I could cure you of this and cure you of that.  Like all those disciples, you're just a sycophant.  The end of our world is imminent.

Not once did I ever question your devotion.  Not until you began to go through the motions.  You speak of the devil as if you're some theologian.  When you and I both know that faith only belongs in the hands of the hopeful.  Maybe in the middle, there is some common ground.  Speak of the devil, I'm sorry to let you down.

God Beauty.  God Money.  God Celebrity.
Speak of the devil, I'm laughing hysterically.

Give me a minute to play devil's advocate and offer you some sympathy. 

Sorry to interrupt as you drink from the devil's cup.  The optimist says, it's half empty.  And no matter how much you drink, it will never be enough.

Your god does not exist but mine does.
He's the same as he ever was. 
And just to make myself clear
Speak of the devil and he will appear.