We’re so bored with our lives
We are scribbling all over ourselves
I’m not sure if it is for individuality
Or self-loathing and disgusted
We’re so bored with our lives
We are scribbling all over ourselves
I’m not sure if it is for individuality
Or self-loathing and disgusted
Tell me the thing you regret?
It’s not that I wish we’d met
Any time before we did
But what did we do waiting there?
I can’t remember life before you and me
It seems strange to contemplate
Haven’t I always known your face
Sitting there filling up my space?
Haven’t I always known you
It feels that way to me
What were we before we met
Is that what you regret?
I understand you
Now that I am your age
As I sit on the edge of the bed
In the night, it dawns on me
That you were really quite young
When your husband died
And you lived the rest of your life
Alone
Religion is like a virus,
But unlike AIDS
And the homos plight,
There is no cure in sight
Death is such a weird thing
It is possibly considered the most import thing in your life,
Although you are the person it affects the least.
God almighty, how can it be a choice?
to go against everything that is right? And Good?
The all powerful? It is not logical.
“How could ‘they’ have been made in his image"
“just like you and me, it can’t be right,”
says the god-botherer with a snarl.
“It has to be a choice, because only then can “we”
justify our beliefs, only then can we go on
on our journey of ‘us’ being right.
All god’s creatures, they can’t be one of them.
It doesn’t hold up, what we learned on Sunday,
what my mother and her mother and her mother before.
What they believed, it makes it all a joke.
Those queers are the work of the devil, we know,
we believe that, it has to be true. No, it can’t be a choice.
We don’t believe it. And our belief is god.
The good book says so, when we read it
our way. And our way is right. We know.
"It’s not a choice, that we make. No.
it is our way of life. We believe. We believe.
It is not our choice to make." No, it is not.