Whispering

beating the walls of our chest

bruising our breast, we will not rest

the stones are crying a sad song

sadly we hum along...Hum

drums beating endlessly

we Hum along, we know

the day comes, we will be alone

because of mans devices

we no longer know, who

Christ is, it all looks the same

from a distance, can we be sure

of certain things, that went

on behind the scenes

it is certain, that we were

not present at the funeral

nor were we at the repass

or the wake, we just think

the more we think, the more

we stop and say "WOAH"

"WOAH" to all this madness

when the red and white symbol

swirling outside of the barber shop

is in fact a bloody bandage

why do some of us, not know that

it's simple...no one asked, we are

accepters therefore we accept

whatever, not knowing what

we are looking at, it is correct

that many man made things

are erect, I guess the bigger the thing

the most respect, the world is

full of Nimrod's and Idols

inside of chapels, DaVinci

painting spaceships flying

over the heads of saints

while the choir sings

"SWING LOW SWEET CHARIOT"

they woah, they cry, they never ask why

cried the rock to the stone

"WHOAH" somethings wrong

and all the tree's say AMEEN