I watch television,
But I can hardly see,
First it was black and white,
But now gray is all I see.
The children slip into comas,
Wake up feeling empty,
They realize they were played,
But now it's too late.
The miracle mile is coming up short,
And the piety has put their dreams on life support,
Washed by the blood,
But dirtied by mud.
I wish I wasn't here.
Subterranean creatures haunt me,
In gray is everything I see,
Bleached away your sins,
But in me still sticks your pins.
Satellites are the only things watching over me,
Government is the only thing ruling over me,
Me, myself, and I are the only things I need,
Homesick nauseous children will be freed.
The miracle mile is stuck at port,
The worms have put it on life support,
Saved by the lamb,
And believing a sham.
YOU ARE READING
This Lost Heathen
PoetryA poem in the form of a concept album based around an atheist named Christian In a devoutly religious town.
