We wallow in the cathedral, sell wisdom by the ounce.
Sleeping on a bed of soda cans and condoms,
next shot could be the last;
eyes closed, mouth foams, we melt into the hardwood floor.
Father, forgive me.
We came from the county;
grew up on farms, riding horses.
Sitting in the derelict pew; this used to be a spiritual haven.
Maybe it still is?
Father, forgive me.
We’re in the here and now, and now, we want a shot,
filling us like cheap unleaded,
let us lie here in our twisted peace.
Father, forgive us.
