Your voice echoes in the halls of my mind,
Fills them with a few sweet memories
Just enough to get by until the day I die,
A vague impression that at least someone
Had love that I could seek or find the vine.
But in the end we'll all be in the room,
Standing before the alter, right? Judged.
Some sort of ideal of someone who is
Angry at the world and wants them
To get what's coming to them, no way
To break this cycle with patient time to lend.
Bitter sweet this whine, it grasps at straws,
Seeps its way into our hearts and minds
Where it finds there is someone divine,
That which we must all face his wraith,
"He'll" be the one, this God, his kingdom vast,
To fill our world with firey pain if we all
Don't confess and repent again and again.
No, I'm not here to argue that a God can't exist,*
Or tell you that no one made this world,
That we can't find ourselves in a better place to live,
All I'm saying is that if there were such a person,
Someone behind the mask who made all of this,
They'd certainly not be here to seek so much
A way to make us to pay for every wrong we ever did!
