Early Sunday service or one way tickets to hell
Thank you father for this day of sharp expectations to spread amongst these little children. And forgive them of their sins, seeded daily at the pulpit. Hidden lovingly in stone cold words made sharp in Sunday school tragedies. Thrown blindly in vein at those who haven't sinned. But let those who haven't sinned bury their sins deepest. Neatly tucked under the rug, kept clean for the preachers daughter to see no evil. But never assume she hears nor speaks no evil behind locked doors. Only mumbling and stumbling into a satanic world past her curfew to spread her light to others. Spreading the words of 'love thy neighbor' freely to her best friends neighbor. But oh thank God she finished her service to make it to the morning service on Sunday. She hears poetic words from the preacher whose son could not make it this morning. He stares out from the edge of the second story window threw beautiful bloodshot eyes. Still so high up in his window that he would kill to come down. Shacking tired from last nights fellowship with the preachers daughter. Reading pages from his Bible that he rolls up in smoke to hide his guilty frown. Holding his book close enough to hide his crimson bracelets from his lonely father. His father who drives to church alone. He seems to have lost his wife somewhere in his secretaries office last Monday. But he still smiles because he hasn't lost the key to his heart, the one he keeps hidden above his liquor cabinet. But none of this matters when he locks the doors and falls into bed were he prays threw tears that taste of scotch. He knows he needs his sleep if he wants to make it to the early service in the morning. His attendance is still perfect in his first row seat were everyone can hear him pray, "Thank you father for this day of burning discontent, forgive us of our sins forged daily behind locked doors. And remember me when its time for grace because I wont remember you. In my name I pray."
Last edited by Yourfalloutboy : 11-15-2005 at 11:53 AM.