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Description
Preachers son, forced to a church.
Forced to the point
Where church is hurt.
He wet his lips moist.
He opened the door,
Saw past the fake smile
Where intolerance is core.
He knew they'd think him vile.
He sat in the last row, shrinking behind
The woman who can no longer
Make believe she was kind.
She won't even speak to her daughter.
He hears the band start up the keys,
The drums and cymbals
And sees the voice that'll lead.
They made worship seem so simple.
He sees him approach the pulpit.
He see's his father
And he heads for the exit.
God, being a PK, what a bother.
He can't be held by the sermon
Not while his hand is held by a girl
And his heart filled with bourbon.
God, he could hurl.
He's disgusted with himself
He reaches for his car keys
And races for the door.
That's when he sees
A family needing more.
The young boy smiles and heads for the church.
It's the only place, where the little boy knows
He's safe for a while,
a home away from home.
The preachers sons' mouth is filled with bile.
And he wonders why he hates it.
Why it makes him hurt?
Why he feels like his soul's been ripped.
He falls to his knees
In that church parking lot
He shouts, "Father please!
Make me the man I am not."
He closes his eyes,
Tearing at pretense,
he then starts to cry.
He knows where his pleas been sent.
He looks around, looking for a sign
He needs to know what he has to do
He needs to know how much time.
He needs to know, is he one of the few?
He dusts off his pants,
Puts his keys away.
He forgets all his 'can'ts'
And he begins to sway.
He's falling again, falling from grace
He can't find where to go,
So why make haste?
He's looking for a sign that won't show.