Empty
Maybe an empty canvas is all we're meant to be
Left without tools to create anything of our own
Maybe an empty canvas is more than what you see
The only way a mistake is noticed when left all alone
I suppose bitterness is nothing more than my own creation
But it's that which gives my place impact
And it's that which gives me the fuel and excuse
To shove my thoughts so deeply and carelessly [down your throat]
I'm so sick of you and your dulled-out halo
Pretending God blessed you and brought your dreams to life
You've merely left the rest us to starve
As his blessings run short and force us all to fight
Spit in the offering plate as it passes to the nearest sheep
I'm disgusted by your falsified beliefs of sacrifice
I'm looking for the pound of flesh Jesus left with them
I'd love some compensation for the pain and suffering I've been denied
I want my own heaven
I want my own heaven
Copyright © Seth Cross | Year Posted 2010
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