God Hates Facts

It's not divine, it's not intelligent design,
 it's not the Eucharist or your confession time
 It's just the path where we depart the most,
 the cop, the kid, the Holy Ghost,
 another scripture scribbled through with lines.
 I don't blame you for needing something to believe,
 but give me hands that help instead of lips that pray, this isn't judgement day.
 Your God is real,
 insofar as the shame he made you feel has caused a sadness that you're scared to leave behind
 Self-loathing in your bones
 no hope for rolling back the stone
 you found mythology could ease your muddled mind.
 I don't blame you for needing something to believe,
 but give me hands that help instead of lips that pray, this isn't judgement day.
 A phone call at the crack of dawn
 A pain you've never felt before
 Bad news in a soothing voice
 Another bloody lousy choice
 Queue behind an old acquaintance
 Pay the price for your impatience
 Make eye contact as you leave
 Wiping tears with your sleeve.
 It's sweaty palms on your big day
 Forgot the psalm the preacher sang
 Lose another awkward fight
 Then read the book of Job by candlelight
 Skimmed over the obituaries
 Typos in the prophecy
 These vineyards smell like cemeteries
 But there's no such thing as booze for free.
 Superstition or religion
 in the church where you were christened
 Eyeing the collection tin
 Be sure to put your coppers in
 Politics and economics
 The nervous ticks of an alcoholic
 Waster in his father's suit
 The rotting flesh of the forbidden fruit.
 Meet me at the reservoir
 The world got smaller, things got harder
 Say a toast to an absent friend
 Then tell yourself you'll make amends
 Then lie again and say you're fine
 Your breath smells like Communion wine
 There's nothing left round here for you
 So do what you're supposed to do.
 And meet me at the reservoir
 Your plans were scuppered from the very start
 The world got smaller, things got harder
 A fading light; another broken heart
 So come and meet me at the reservoir.
 I don't blame you for needing something to believe,
 in fact we all put faith in things we can't explain
 The way a funeral feels more poignant in the rain
 But give me hands that help instead of lips that pray, this isn't judgement day.