Calling On God |
November 2000
Oh my plight, to pick a fight, to pick a fight with God.
Of all the foes that I could fight, my choice might seem quite odd.
But I'm upset, on him I fret, my mind continually is set
to place my bet on what I'll get when pulled in by the reaper's net.
And not thing one has he done yet, to calm the sting of that black net.
Angry at apparent apathy of a parent who's said to be
watching, caring over me, as over falls I plummet, out to sea.
Cast off in a skin tight barrel, that thus far floats me out, quite feral.
Floating free, midst swelling sea, no way to guarantee what's said to be
I've pondered heaven, pondered hell. I've scoured the path, retraced the trail
from heaven's halo to devil's tail. Just what is true I cannot tell.
I wish I could believe in you, and not make such a big to-do,
just passively accept it's true, never questioning why the sky is blue.
I've searched the church, my inner self.
I've looked in books stacked on the shelf.
So come out coward! Show yourself!
A fight betwixt the giant and elf.
Or billing better: 'twixt elf and giant,
for I'm the one who dares defiant!
No longer son to be compliant,
faith now dying, no more reliance
on things outlying the scope of science.
So now a fight I pick with you, God of all creation.
A cow from bite of tick will move its tail in irritation.
So slap me, squish me, squash me down, at least I'll know you're there.
Harm me , hurt me, hit me hard. By blows I'll know you care.
Sure I'm scared of being scarred
with a finger flick you'd leave me marred
or tied up, dragged, and feather tarred
But I'm sick to death of this canard.
"Come out and fight meek mighty man!"
This shout's my fright freaked flighty plan
"All I ask is give me my due.
I just want a look at you!"
At this I clutch my chest, turn blue,
God at last has touched my heart, true.
And touching burst it full - I'm through.
"Oh my plight to pick a fight, to pick a fight with God"
on any night, if the moonlight's right, you can read this phrase and nod.
For 'tis scribed upon a granite stone that heads a hill of sod
And still to you I cannot tell, whether not there is a God.
Of all the foes that I could fight, my choice might seem quite odd.
But I'm upset, on him I fret, my mind continually is set
to place my bet on what I'll get when pulled in by the reaper's net.
And not thing one has he done yet, to calm the sting of that black net.
Angry at apparent apathy of a parent who's said to be
watching, caring over me, as over falls I plummet, out to sea.
Cast off in a skin tight barrel, that thus far floats me out, quite feral.
Floating free, midst swelling sea, no way to guarantee what's said to be
I've pondered heaven, pondered hell. I've scoured the path, retraced the trail
from heaven's halo to devil's tail. Just what is true I cannot tell.
I wish I could believe in you, and not make such a big to-do,
just passively accept it's true, never questioning why the sky is blue.
I've searched the church, my inner self.
I've looked in books stacked on the shelf.
So come out coward! Show yourself!
A fight betwixt the giant and elf.
Or billing better: 'twixt elf and giant,
for I'm the one who dares defiant!
No longer son to be compliant,
faith now dying, no more reliance
on things outlying the scope of science.
So now a fight I pick with you, God of all creation.
A cow from bite of tick will move its tail in irritation.
So slap me, squish me, squash me down, at least I'll know you're there.
Harm me , hurt me, hit me hard. By blows I'll know you care.
Sure I'm scared of being scarred
with a finger flick you'd leave me marred
or tied up, dragged, and feather tarred
But I'm sick to death of this canard.
"Come out and fight meek mighty man!"
This shout's my fright freaked flighty plan
"All I ask is give me my due.
I just want a look at you!"
At this I clutch my chest, turn blue,
God at last has touched my heart, true.
And touching burst it full - I'm through.
"Oh my plight to pick a fight, to pick a fight with God"
on any night, if the moonlight's right, you can read this phrase and nod.
For 'tis scribed upon a granite stone that heads a hill of sod
And still to you I cannot tell, whether not there is a God.