it is a human thing; to look,
to reject, to judge,
but what to believe?

if you were alone; surrounded by strangers,
would you bring your fears, your defiance;
would you give them a chance to give you a chance,
or are you convinced that life is not your friend?

don’t let it be your funeral; put the shovel down,
unless you are ready to plant some seeds;
remember how you smiled when you were alone,
but what is courage if you cannot smile at doubt  

i’ve heard many a preachers word,
under vaulted high beamed ceilings,
with stained glass lights, glowing;
upon my quiet soul and
my divided conscience

and so am i strong enough to fight
or to turn the other check

and so still,
i’m asking the question, and
i will continue my search,
without further suggestion;
i have read enough
and what we can glean from it, except
the fanatics never leave
and the doubters never stay
but i’m not one to do whatever it takes
i’m not a marxist
nor a prophet
i’m not self-satisfied;
a know it all doesn’t know enough
only too much to be loved

how to treat people
is it just for my salvation, or
is it just the right thing?
would i have known had i never heard a sermon?
but to understand another man, is to listen to him;
it is to stop thinking about my own plans, yes, i will stop;
if you need me too, but even if you don’t,
i will anyway; i will clear my mind for you;
and begin my life again

is life passing me by; i have to ask,
the answer is yes, but,
only if you care about the time of day,
or the year

but is treating people the right way old-fashioned;
i’m no longer a child; selfish and impatient
i’m no longer a young man; glorious in my triumphs
i’m not a man in crisis; not about indecision;
i know who i am, unafraid to change,
no longer impressed by human standards;
not beauty for beauty’s sake,
not dishonesty because there’s money at stake;
no, none of that moves me
i’m just a man gazing upon a farm i never tilled;
hungry for character,
the way an early riser with calloused hand earns

too much money can’t be bought,
or so they say, but
what of his ambition;
a poor boy is hungry enough,
but is he honest;
only a cross of gold knows

i heard a lie, but
nobody wants to talk about it;
It's better to pretend it was true
or never said at all

i was angry, but
i have to keep it to myself;
they might think I’m crazy,
even though they yelled at me first

what you cannot see,
a thousand cuts that never left a scar;
but the river of blood flows freely inside of me,
i will ride along to see where it ends;
but i will never tell you why i let it happen, no
it doesn’t matter anyway; it just felt right at the time

let us dig a hole together;
not for ourselves, but to bury our pain,
our assumptions of hate,
towards them,
and towards ourselves;
we will go our own way now;
but you first,
the shovel gleams with anticipation,
while my heart watches you bury a sermon,
and plant a heart of your own