Plato, Aristotle, and even Socrates
Spent their lives pursuing truths they each thought they’d need.
What is fair? What is just? Can either really be?
No sooner had they found theories for these queries
Than others started probing their local beliefs.

Now the age of science trades facts for prophecies;
Using bones and dust to make God just a story.
“There’s no God when good men die,” cry the moralists,
“We won’t believe any gods, unless they play fair.”

But ideas of fairness were made by mortal men,
Controlled by minds of small confines that cannot bend.
And so to them I must confess, “My God’s not fair,
He doesn’t bargain with the whines and cries of men,
But deals to each what is just for the crime of sin.”