The God Inside Our Head
Crossed out and cursed
By the worst kind of God
The kind that does not forgive
To those who do not understand
Right from wrong
Sometimes they do not choose
Their surroundings to which create them
Little devils itching, and pacing
Back and forth between the empty cupboards
They speak like radio hosts
Making absolutely no sense
Imprinting opinions of their perceptions
Little dimensions of deception
Talking tones of a living hell
Where we trust in no one
But the eye inside our foreheads
Our voyage for truth from someone
Other than the God inside our head
An ending so abrupt
By the worst kind of God
The kind that does not forgive
To those who do not understand
Right from wrong
Sometimes they do not choose
Their surroundings to which create them
Little devils itching, and pacing
Back and forth between the empty cupboards
They speak like radio hosts
Making absolutely no sense
Imprinting opinions of their perceptions
Little dimensions of deception
Talking tones of a living hell
Where we trust in no one
But the eye inside our foreheads
Our voyage for truth from someone
Other than the God inside our head
An ending so abrupt
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