Everything is large when you look at right.
The right angle of perspective doesn’t make it right.
Atonement is beyond your grasp.
Colorful sins creep by your gaze like an Asp.
You eat the mud the fool told you would heal.
But just because the fool says, doesn’t make it real.
It’s all evil over the trees, says the wrong God.
You breed living water, and call it a façade.
It’s all too bizarre, the though will never end.
It is your life, but is for others to condescend.
It is always in the night, the living water haunts.
It wasn’t God or foe that did this, but it is what you flaunt.
From which dreams will you choose to portray,
The God you though you had, never went away.