[drought for the agnostic]
[lyrics: woodley]


I caused the drought with my doubt.
God is mad at me cause I called him a nomadic freak,
because I called him a padded dream.

why do we have to die if we know nothing but his food?
how does that compare to pharoah and his brood?
something in their mouths tells me that I shouldn't question;
I should simply swallow my existential indigestion.

my brain made the rain dry, and God is mad at me.
because I lie and I'd rather be a happy thief than an empty priest.

sat inside the church and listened to the choir sing:
doodled as I tried to find something that inspiring.
felt the air encase me like a thousand firebrands.
when my skin falls off I know that I'm in higher hands
(angered higher hands or angry hired hands?)


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