Guardrail On The Stairway

  They say there is a heaven. They say my speakers arent suppose to go to eleven. A holy door, on the thirteenth floor...of a skyscraper. A golden gateway, why is heaven gated off? Isnt everyone allowed into this paradise, or is it just a place for the rich to scoff? We pin ourselves to a wall of faith and blind hoping. Praying that the ones with the books arent just doping...chopped up lines of story spinning on a mirror of shameful self-reflection.   

Being snorted up through a straw of holy bills.

  Vows of poverty seem to connect us to them, but a city of gold beholds the truth. The underlining lying that keeps us out of this gated community. You and your messiah must take a long walk, and have a private talk. You cant talk to a man about a belief if this man isnt willing to listen because "its a sin."

  Cant know, wont know until its too late to know. Heaven may be real, but so is a yellow name in the snow. Doesnt make it pretty or fair, angels caressing your back, running fingers through your hair. No, you must find heaven on earth, and unearth all the propaganda that keeps you at arms length with faith. Think outside the Book.

  Discover for yourself whats inside yourself. You may find something to treasure that no priest or pastor can measure in righteous cups of blood. Bread tastes better with a little flavour, dont you agree?