Deny me not the God I’ve built to save myself
But let me see that in which I scarce believe
When the righteous rise on chariots of fire
And the sinners crumble under the weight of the Unknown,
Who will free them from this mental slavery
These years of persecution
This time of rights and wrongs
Of blood-stained rosary beads
And dying for the cause
When Death is so vehemently held over their weary heads
As a punishment, not a promise
Of Hell, not Heaven like for those who are
Righteous, righteous according
To the book of Who?
Persecuted for my feelings
Made to seem smaller than those
Who cross themselves and pray and fast and long
But do not satisfy.
Was it really His intent to make us suffer?
Did He mean to have us deny ourselves PLEASURE for His sake?
Did He not allow the First People these feelings that the world might grow?
Am I really going to burn for all eternity simply because I embrace a man too closely?
And what does it mean, to be SAVED?
Saved from what? From Hinduism, from Judaism, from Krishna?
Who are we as a human race to send Ghandi, or John Lennon, or Khalil Gibran
To Hell for simply believing in a different Higher Being?
Why do we condemn what we do not understand?
Why do the rules we write and live by and persecute according to
Come not from God
But from Man?
