Jul 2016
Have you ever wondered what heaven's like, what night is like, above the clouds? It might be nice, been there once or twice, and I see what all the fuss is about.
They say it's a world like ours, in fact I think it might be. Nothing's different in that world, it has the same you and me.
But they say that unlike ours, there's something perceived as a man, a man with a golden throne, a man with power in his hands.
He lives in a palace with gleaming walls, on lonely days he roams the halls. But he's never lonely anymore because the demons have found his core.
They pace the halls and laugh at his face and they dance around and call him a disgrace and when he sleeps they enter his dreams and scare him senseless to keep him awake.
After one more meet with demons,
one more look to the man in the mirror,
God had come to a decision,
And no message had been said clearer.
He went in to his dismal room,
Grabbed his gun from under his bed,
Bam, God had pulled the trigger,
And with that trigger, God was dead.
The people wept and the gray returned,
Music was gone along with the words
Yet to be spoken by the brave,
And everything burned that couldn't be saved.
There is no God, our God has died, the demons took his soul aside. Now there's no one to abide, because our God did suicide.
The world became a kaleidoscope
Full of smoke and empty of hope
Turned by the hands of the scared and alone who had lost their happy homes.
They tried to live, but just barely got by
And every day they looked to the grey sky and they would all shed a tear on the day God did suicide.
The tears made a pool and one man looked in and saw our world, and saw his skin in a different way than he had seen it before and with every second he saw more. So he took his hand and he grabbed our sky and he threw it upwards and let it fly. Then he dipped his hand in our watery skin and wore it to show them what was within.
He dipped his hand into the tears and pulled out the sun, bright and clear, and he sprinkled the water over their eyes as the sun returned to the sky. The watery hole still held one more, he took a piece of all our cores, but we did not mind at all, we understood they needed them more.
They all rejoiced in the beautiful place
That had been recreated with the start of a face, and they all wept joy as they looked to the sky
The days after God did suicide.
They say it's a world like ours, in fact I think it might be. Nothing's different in that world, it has the same you and me.
But they say that unlike ours, there's something perceived as a man, a man with a golden throne, a man with power in his hands.
He lives in a palace with gleaming walls, on lonely days he roams the halls. But he's never lonely anymore because the demons have found his core.
They pace the halls and laugh at his face and they dance around and call him a disgrace and when he sleeps they enter his dreams and scare him senseless to keep him awake.
After one more meet with demons,
one more look to the man in the mirror,
God had come to a decision,
And no message had been said clearer.
He went in to his dismal room,
Grabbed his gun from under his bed,
Bam, God had pulled the trigger,
And with that trigger, God was dead.
The people wept and the gray returned,
Music was gone along with the words
Yet to be spoken by the brave,
And everything burned that couldn't be saved.
There is no God, our God has died, the demons took his soul aside. Now there's no one to abide, because our God did suicide.
The world became a kaleidoscope
Full of smoke and empty of hope
Turned by the hands of the scared and alone who had lost their happy homes.
They tried to live, but just barely got by
And every day they looked to the grey sky and they would all shed a tear on the day God did suicide.
The tears made a pool and one man looked in and saw our world, and saw his skin in a different way than he had seen it before and with every second he saw more. So he took his hand and he grabbed our sky and he threw it upwards and let it fly. Then he dipped his hand in our watery skin and wore it to show them what was within.
He dipped his hand into the tears and pulled out the sun, bright and clear, and he sprinkled the water over their eyes as the sun returned to the sky. The watery hole still held one more, he took a piece of all our cores, but we did not mind at all, we understood they needed them more.
They all rejoiced in the beautiful place
That had been recreated with the start of a face, and they all wept joy as they looked to the sky
The days after God did suicide.
Open for interpretation, but my thought was what if art was a religion and the god killed itself
