Sunday Mourning Status

Your loving words were a camoflaouge for my cage
Dedicated my soul to a God you never knew
To feel accepted by those sitting in rows of pews
Decorated my childhood with fancy Sunday clothes
To fulfill an acceptance quota or sit silently in shame

13 years old and I've never known you cared
Fatten my body with memories of smile covered gluttony
Only to suite me up for my weekly auditorium inspection
During the week you mock me for my weight
I still wiegh myself and no matter the numbers I'm filled with hate
I swallow my food to belimicly fuck it up all over again
Take me back to the first years of rage
To repair the error of my ways
When you told your wife to be good
And feed our ignorant appitites

You should have blown me away before I came to know
The deeply established hatred you bare for me
Because I wouldn't conform to what you believe
That enables hell to speak through your eyes
Showing your wife and pew your raging soul

Preacher prays a prayer over treacherous children
Ringing the bell relieving us to children's church again
Condemning the fat kid in the corner to a life without a friend
God the Christ child created this fucked up son
In his world wide hated mold

I begin to cry that I won't go
But to you, my tears are your shame
A disturbance in the perfect pew
A scene hushed as the ceremony was under away
The weakness of emotion you'll mock at home
But on that Sunday morn your grip went stern and eyes went cold
You'd do anything to meet the weekly Sunday status quoe

I won't speak of love on that hollow soul displaying day
I can't sit in silence to cover your weekly grievances anymore
Acceptance to the cliques should no longer dominate church life
We tolerate immoral unequality so we can live comortably
Standing by on the sidelines as it obliterates people's lives
We charish vacant relations of polite clique acceptance
From those who don't leave trash and sit upright upon the pew
More than the children existing malnourished in your own home

You should have blown me away long ago
Before I established my deep beliefs on equality
Now your left with an equation of why you bare hatred for me
Because I wouldn't conform to what you've been told to believe
When I look into your orbs I see the blind raging eyes of hell
Go on controlling the only being soon to be left in your life
She standing silently beside you in submission in your pew
Filling the status quoe of not your Sunday mourning clique Biblical abuse with singled out verses of submission
Clearly your blind belief blurred your vision
Welcome to the Sunday mourning clique
On the backside of the Monday truthcast edition