Soiled Soul salvation
Soiled soul salvation, that's what I'm hoping for.
Can these bent bones of endless sin
fit through the eye of a needle and
straight into heaven? I like to think so.
Heaven is where the saved and forgiven go
When they're finished bottom-feeding from this poison fishbowl
so, I've read -so I'm told.
What we have in common is that everyone wants to know.
If there's life after this life, where will we all go?
Does the wind blow there, are there flowers?
Will I be skinny and fly in my sunny self or flounder fat and cold?
Does our chalky soul hit a black brick wall of nothingness
and whisper... "is that all there is?"
Doesn't there have to be a reason for joy and mayhem?
From one cell to a trillion stars never reached.
Rocket ship wishes and poor man's ambition.
The blind, inbred offspring of ego and technology.
Maybe I wasn't the best candidate to gift life to...
Didn't pray efficiently.
Too many insults and rough edges.
Not enough tender moments. Not enough praise for others.
Not enough thanks.
In all honesty, I'm just a fraud making black fog,
A skunk man with impeccable imperfections.
I've mastered the art of imperfection
As a Matter of truth, I invented it.
That in itself has a type of absolute worth.
A purity worthy of a lesser realm...
Soiled soul salvation.
Can a bent freak fit through the eye of a needle?
Straight into the foyer of heaven.
Maybe I can slither in the back door...
Soiled soul salvation, wishful thinking.
I'm praying for soiled soul salvation.
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