There’s a germ under my toenail and it’s telling me what to do

There’s a germ that’s much to blame for why I’m losing touch with You


And I don’t know what to do, Lord, ‘bout wand’ring and revolt

But it’s the germs, Oh God, …
You know it’s not my fault.



There’s a voice from my past, who liked to talk about true Love

And the train filling the temple and the symbol of the dove

Preaching about the fear of the LORD, Offering a shoulder for your tears

But then again, it is perfect Love that casts out fears…



Then I think of the usurper from whom I take my name

And how he left his family without a shred of shame

The youth leader was his thorn and in his flesh she stuck

And so he frolicked, and left town, and didn’t give a ****



This appendage of the Body when these two start their rambles

Scatters like the seeds… that were sown among the brambles

So we grow and change and join in with a new throng - and we’re bored

We’re staying now for hours, hearing words of knowledge from the LORD



And watching hippie-throw-back-chicks with banners dance and swoon

And a friend upon the floor face-down starts writhing like a Bedlam loon

But sometimes there’d be special folks who’d cut through all the bull

And artists who, like me, seriously, wanted to be full



But maybe we were meant to learn to starve upon this earth

Like Franz’s fasting artist, I’ve been hungry since my birth

But couldn’t find the food I liked, nothing would suffice

“I’ve food that you know nothing of”, quips the Bread of Life



It’s been a masquerade of sorts… a lying to my self

The yearning’s real and solid as a tome upon a shelf

I’m happier when feigning faith (I think) I heed the call

But secretly, I feel as though I’m talking to the wall



The chasm yawns and stretches to unfathomable dimensions

Atonement is a far-off thing; …the germs control all my intentions

Or are we of a higher-order, on a lower-order plane,

Watched with love as we trudge and labor through this pain?




Fifth dimension beings in a four-dimensional place

Scholars trapped in meaty bags unwitting contestants in this race

To see if we can run it well, and in the end be told

Well done! …And now, I’ll remove your cursed cruel blind fold




To a God unknown, I freely state my low and perverse ways

I treat myself, and love myself, to make it through my days

With mercies new each morning and with amazing grace

It’s possible, through outrageous fortune, someday I’ll see your face