Silly little wishes,
Fantasies and dreams,
Who but me to make them true?
Or so that way it seems,
Twice a day, a minute spent,
Begging my soul's master,
Oh I could count a thousand prayers,
Without a single answer,
Kneeling down on tender knees,
Beneath the mercy of a rope,
Wishful truth may set me free,
But the cruelest lie is hope,
So of these vacant, mystic promises,
I've grown weary and suspicious,
If I am God then God is dead,
And so are all my wishes.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
Silly little wishes,
Fantasies and dreams,
Who but me to make them true?
Or so that way it seems,
Twice a day, a minute spent,
Begging my soul's master,
Oh I could count a thousand prayers,
Without a single answer,
Kneeling down on tender knees,
Beneath the mercy of a rope,
Wishful truth may set me free,
But the cruelest lie is hope,
So of these vacant, mystic promises,
I've grown weary and suspicious,
If I am God then God is dead,
And so are all my wishes.
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