Looking for God in a church, every Sunday.
Want to talk to God then hit the switch Monday.
It's just another suit you wear like any other day.
You stand in full view of everyone while you pray.
You say God bless you, then cast your stones.
Put on all your gold and the finest Cologne.
As you check out, your neighbor's wife in the third row.
by the end of the sermon you're taking her home.
You hypocrites, first clean the inside.
life, don't start until you finally die.
to your evil ways and evil desires.
So come follow him and he'll take a higher.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem