The alarm sounds early Sunday morning

Gotta dress right, the utmost importance

Chubby hands, dismal eyes

Sigh to the mirror, self esteem suicide

Two hour sermon, squirm and doodle

Old ladies gossip in high pitched whispers

They stare at those who dont meet fashions restrictions

Disdain, judgement, hatred

Old men wish they hadnt followed their wives there

They think of the beer waiting for them at home

Roast dinners and football games, evening priorities

Longing, dreaming, dying

I hold onto that old white Bible, flip through the pages

Granny got it for me, her body filled with Cancer

I put it on the shelf and accepted the new one with the fancy case

Hoping for acceptance and care, no love

Hoping for love and admitting it now

Needing to escape the fears of Jesus Christ

Of death and where Im heading when it happens

Keep the time, every second, cause

Sunday mornings always turned to Sunday afternoons

When the entire experience would be thrown to the wind

And I could change back into myself again

Boys clothes and rough housing, lets play rodeo.

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