understanding Bad Religion
I'm standing up now and I see them:
those tight collared men with faces like sheets of hard slate.
And I see them with bolted up heads and flaring silver pursed lips, set on the edge of outrage.
And they have bibles in their hands and they're sweating. Dragging their vowels, disgracing words.
Burning the consanants and freezing the rest. All bottled up like they in a jam-jar.
Jesus cries to come as you are, come in your suits and bleed for me.
And I look at the others who are scared to say anything but Amen to those fat greasy robots.
Amen to heaven and Amen to hell and damnation to them all who don't Amen as well as the rest of
I glance around wordless, Amenless and the occasional old lady has a "Well!" for me and every
mother pushes their child's head back around. Trying to keep them from seeing anything other
than those slimy pulpit whores yelling about God's mercy and his eternal damnation for us all.
And I look up at the cross hanging above our heads, waiting to come crashing down and skewer
someone. And understanding for yet another Greg Graffin masterpeice rains down from the
idol murder weapon and I have yet another new understanding for Bad Religion.