Creation

If he loves you, and you love him.
If you’re together, and you know you want to stand there.
Why is there so much excess?
If there is a God, I’d like to ask him why he gave the human mind
The capacity to over think – the thinking, I understand.
The emotions, understood.
But why did he give us the intellectual capacity
To tear ourselves to barely knowing who
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I’ll give you a simple answer
If there is one – if there are a great amount
The higher powers in the world hold their fingers
Around the strings with a smirk on their lips
And glints in their eye; perhaps that’s why I find Christianity so…
Strange isn’t even the word that I would use
Twisted seems like a boundary step I refuse to take
I take a lot as of recently
When, before, I refused so much
I was me, and they were them
And while I didn’t have to think I was above,
I knew for damn sure that I wasn’t below.
It’s funny how something so wonderful can
Give the possibility to feeling so bad.
Creation, creation, creation
Goes hand in hand with
Mutation, mutation, mutation
You make something you feel is great
And somewhere along the line
You see the flaws.
You see the mistakes
The perfect foundation is see-through
And seeing through it
Gives way to seeing everything
You’ve ever done wrong
It’s looking in a mirror
A mirror that can see through skin
See through heart, and bone, and marrow
And tissue, and muscle, and well
You can see the empty
The emptiness where material is lacking
If I lack after everything everyone else has is gone,
Then how am I to be seen as an individual?
How am I different from anyone else if you lined us up
Cut us open, and found exactly the same things
Why would anyone believe in only creation when there’s no individuality?
Was the Creator lacking in creativity?
Was he completely devoid of new inspiration?
I understand my hair and my eyes
They’re different from his
From hers; the surface is so different
That only few are alike enough to tell
I can just see it now
Some pretty little blonde with a cross ‘round her neck
And a bible strapped to her waist
Walks up with a holy gun, pointing it right at me
“How dare you speak of the Lord in that way?”
I’d smile, oh I’d smile, and bring myself in
I’d whisper right in her ear, and say
“Honey, you’re a pretty little Easter egg, filled with treats-
The Lord gave you those treats so one man one day
Would marry you, and he’d find ‘em, but the second he takes them-
Take a guess what you’ve got.”
She’d stare, and she’d point, and she’d say the same things.
“You’re nothing, honey, and the second that thing
That everyone else has is gone
You’re just an empty shell-
And one day, your plastic will fall away
And your color will fade, and
Where will your Lord be, then?”