My name is Old John Smith

My name is Old John Smith.
I don't know my life's purpose, yet,
but, oh, I will find out, and soon,
for Judgment Day is coming!
and I must have a story for to tell,
to my great and terrible G-d,
oh! my G-d!
I love you more than life itself, I'd die, for you,
And that is why I need a lie,
To tell you,
To yell you,
To show you,
This is my truth:
And I wrote a poem for you, my G-d,
I wrote this poem for you:

    I'm dancing in close quarters, in confines,
    In breadths which stretch a fist-length,
    And heights that fight a foot.
    So oh, oh, Jubilation!
    I laugh and scream with happy dreams,

I have not finished yet.
But do you see the eloquence?
This is all for you, my G-d,
This is all just for you.

I wrote a book for you, as well,
I wrote this book and called it "Hell,"
So read it, G-d, with your two eyes,
And note the eloquence in words.
I pray with my hands, not heart!