Therapist and Priest

I am; and not the rain man
Am sinful and sinless 
It all depends 


You see I am Catholic
That means on Sundays 
I shed my loads, am holy


I am light now
Light weight, feathery feel
I am sinless 


That is the old religion, reserved for Sundays 
Today's priest are therapist  
Robe-less, shrinks 


Off loads, done in offices
On Freud couch, no temples
Confession boxes,"no holies" 


No Hail Maries
And Seven Our Fathers
The Lords pray


To forgive, to be forgiven
In butter trade, 
I make that fair trade


No one said anything about forgetting
How do I learn if I am to, with amnesia 
Basic instinct holds onto that part 


These days, its by the hour
He says none, be paid by the hour
And writes a bit, legs crossed, nods a bit


"Keep your ten percent on tithe 
I will make more from you by the hour 
And you can not hold me to my word on moral" 


"You making progress" 
He says, in few lines said
To keep me blabbing by the hour 


On weight gain and light feel
On worries and trepidation 
In search to find myself, charged by the hour 


And modern churches, are just the same
Same, same, same, they are just same 
Rather too keen on tithes I say 

I am sinful and sinless 
What's my religion, 
Well what day is it?