I can’t even remember how long it’s been now,

But a really long time ago

I asked God for a safe place to pray

And I’ve been down every alley

Walked through every broken back door leading into

Houses I knew I should have never entered

Had me turnin’ up psalms

Paced to the rhythm of footsteps and rain

I found this:

My church

Will never ask you to give up anything

In exchange for your soul

Keep it

It’s probably ***** anyway

My church

Sounds like the ocean on Sunday

Keeps the wine flowing whenever you need to numb the pain

My church

Will set itself on fire on the days you just can’t get up in the morning

It’ll burn until you’re ready to come back

My church

Is in a tree house

It’s the wrong tree though

You know

The one you are always barking up

My church

Will never make you feel guilty

For anything

You do that well enough yourself

Now

I can’t promise eternal happiness


And I can’t promise virgins

I can’t promise anything other than

In my church

You’ll never feel ugly

You’ll never have to wonder what my church is thinking about you

I promise it will answer every question honestly

And hold you when you sleep at night

My church highly condones cuddling

Also

There’s a good chance that Mel Gibson wants to **** me and my church

Here I write poems to the rhythm of thunder

And sing praise to all your beauty and wonder

My church will never purposely make you hurt

Here it’s just me

With a few words

You can come when you want to

You can leave whenever

Leave forever

If you want

But I promise

My church

Will always be right here