Hoping for nothing easier to face, facile.
If there’s something you’d be right

You were always praised as a stoic
a true believer
I’m still your project
an irrational sinner

Sometimes I smoke a little too much
In a solipsistic pit i pray to myself
Yearning to unlearn your version of reality
Where we’d be together for eternity

Oh it was me who led you on?
Maybe to god 15 isn’t too young
How old was Mary
When she delivered his son?

You pray to the father, the son, the ghost
With one of those prayers I’d complain was verbose
That I would repent and find my way
And you’d have me forever as yours again
Maybe, this time, I’d stay.

But you can’t have me.
Don’t look for me in heaven.

6.22 eastwood