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Onsind
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God Hates Facts
It's not divine, it's not intelligent design,
it's not the Eucharist or your confession time
It's just the path where we depart the most,
the cop, the kid, the Holy Ghost,
another scripture scribbled through with lines.
I don't blame you for needing something to believe,
but give me hands that help instead of lips that pray, this isn't judgement day.
Your God is real,
insofar as the shame he made you feel has caused a sadness that you're scared to leave behind
Self-loathing in your bones
no hope for rolling back the stone
you found mythology could ease your muddled mind.
I don't blame you for needing something to believe,
but give me hands that help instead of lips that pray, this isn't judgement day.
A phone call at the crack of dawn
A pain you've never felt before
Bad news in a soothing voice
Another bloody lousy choice
Queue behind an old acquaintance
Pay the price for your impatience
Make eye contact as you leave
Wiping tears with your sleeve.
It's sweaty palms on your big day
Forgot the psalm the preacher sang
Lose another awkward fight
Then read the book of Job by candlelight
Skimmed over the obituaries
Typos in the prophecy
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These vineyards smell like cemeteries
But there's no such thing as booze for free.
Superstition or religion
in the church where you were christened
Eyeing the collection tin
Be sure to put your coppers in
Politics and economics
The nervous ticks of an alcoholic
Waster in his father's suit
The rotting flesh of the forbidden fruit.
Meet me at the reservoir
The world got smaller, things got harder
Say a toast to an absent friend
Then tell yourself you'll make amends
Then lie again and say you're fine
Your breath smells like Communion wine
There's nothing left round here for you
So do what you're supposed to do.
And meet me at the reservoir
Your plans were scuppered from the very start
The world got smaller, things got harder
A fading light; another broken heart
So come and meet me at the reservoir.
I don't blame you for needing something to believe,
in fact we all put faith in things we can't explain
The way a funeral feels more poignant in the rain
But give me hands that help instead of lips that pray, this isn't judgement day.
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