Tell me those of you who stone
The words that drip from the poetic throne
While others who have knelt to sip
The liquid words spilt from it's lip
And those of you who pretend to be
Full of what you call 'christianity'
My creativity can exist apart
These are the thoughts of my mind, my heart
A gift from 'God' you would dispute?
See no evil, hear no evil, become mute?
You believe then what you will
Place that garlic upon your sill
And ward off the thoughts that
haunt you still And
Pretend that you have never done
The very things you play among
OH, I have sinned in my time
I sought forgiveness
And it was mine
I cast no judgement , I bind no cord
I'm the meek, I not the Lord
Perfection, that's what I lack
I am no shepard, but a sheep in the pack
I know I am good, and I know I am kind
The more that I search, the more that I find
You tend to live in such denial and cast the first
Stone at anything vile
But deep down inside a thought or two lingers
Confused but delighted they open with fingers
Their book of interpretations so convenient at times
A justification for a dirty mind








8 old applause
