I fear me.
I fear you.
I fear the silence of the pews.
I fear the smell of incense,
burning me with sandalwood wounds.
I fear that I cannot rise above
what this world has predestined me to be;
defined by my pervasive immorality,
by the wounds running deep.
Soon moral qualms will resign me to my
societally inflicted fleeting sense of self.
Our father,
who art in heaven
hallowed be my refrain to you.
For what I am leads me to refrain from fully accepting your love.
Oh Lord,
why test faith in someone who has been driven from it?
Polly Urethane
Girl with a peculiar name
Born into the oddest of times
She walks through the fields
Picking flowers at will
Tying them in bundles of rhyme
She then takes to the street
Corner of Humble and Meek
And gives flowers to the societally blind
Polly Urethane
The girl with a peculiar name
Looks at life and just has to laugh
Polly she knows
The silly world never slows
Here and gone in a flash
Polly she tries
To take it in stride
Though at times she doesn't understand
She's here to save all that's right
To the tune of delight
Played by a number nine piece magical band
Marching Main Street
Near the corner of Humble and Meek
Where Polly stands, flowers in hand
Polly Urethane
Girl with a peculiar name
Born into the oddest of times
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