Who cares about my nightmarish nights and constant worries
Of maps that lead nowhere.
Of my desire to be and to feel...
These ghost haunt me and no one seems to care.
They pray and say "Amen" but...
Their gospel does not give me wings.
Their miracles...
Their prayers does not provide me with
Refuge from terror of the storm
God is always there
But my mind may be primitive or
I do not receive his blessing for
This world has exploded around me with sin
And this is my body but,
The scars that dance upon it speaks of
Illusions and bones that are too weak to support it.
That are too weak to provide me with the
Freedom of going to the Golden Gate.
