No Sweet Bread Today

On Sundays I hand out bread
The natives have their pipes
the socialites, their dance cards
the hippies love their grass
the state executes warrants and warrants execution
I have bread

I call it the Body of Christ, though, as far as I know,
Christ never had a body, because Christ never was
Merely the official title given to Jesus after he died
by those who couldn't believe they'd stumbled upon
sweet bread still at the Day-Old-Bakery
the church took his name for themselves

and then decided they needed needed something more jolty
so they called him Christ, Jesus Christ
Jesus, someone who saves
  (grata, non grata, nada)  
Christ, someone who has saved us 
we wrote down his name
Jesus.  Christ.  That's better

Yes, we can find the name in the Holy Book,
written down as holy writ
"You are the Christ," said Peter unto Jesus
like he'd finally found his man
But then his man asked for proof of admission and fealty,
not to him but to the armless dude down on the corner
down on his luck, still getting high
giving high fives, 
where the woman in her fur coat
lay bundled up under the August sky 
as if it were December,
knowing it will be so again soon

And Peter, turning away, cried,
Man, I thought you were somebody else.

Would it matter us to know the inmate on Death Row,
The Body of Christ
If we recalled that Jesus
   (blessed Sweet Bread)
had his execution live streamed as well

There is no sweet bread today
they sold out in Tennessee and Texas
and up north it's slim pickings, too
Stay home and inside, Jesus
We are ravenous, and love a good last supper
We killed you once
We'll do it
again
Sorry in advance