No voices in the sky today,
just cold, empty, silent, gray.
No one’s there to hear the pathetic prayers I wing t’wards it;
No one to show me “the way” and that I’m not on it.
Is this lack of discovery on me,
or is the attic really empty?
Sometimes I feel I’ve lost my faith,
sometimes I feel I can’t shake it;
but this church game is not to my taste,
holier-than-thou’s sitting in judgment,
somehow seems bass-ackward,
same as the brimstone that plays on our fears.
Still I fire hopeless prayers skyward,
hoping for a whisper while plugging my ears.