The imagination can create so many things; that’s why when I look up at the sky I can see new constellations and clouds that, in perfect det
I see the sky differently now;
no longer is it innocent clouds
or beautiful storms,
it's anxiety and expectation.
Sometimes if I lay on our hill
and try to form
figures
from the sky
I can almost see your face
passing by.
I pray to God it's you
because I can't do this alone
and I don't know what I'm supposed to do;
without you.
I don't.... While I shouldn't.
I don't believe in God, an Atheist through and through... well that's what I tell myself.
But I celebrate Christmas and Easter.
I make a cross with my hand when I pass a graveyard.
I ask God to look after my Nan and Granddad.
I don't believe in anything beyond this earth, or that there is one great creator, but It has become a tradition in my life to do these things... and every time I do I wonder why I am.
To Keep My Hands Busy
If I knew he was listening
I'd pray for almost anything
I'd pray for the beauty we can bring
Then pray to leave by angels wing
I'd pray in his house openly
My penitence needs some surgery
I'm just afraid that I might see
The church roof coming down on me
I'd pray from the sofa; the kitchen floor
I'd pray until my hands are sore
And if there's time for just one more
I'd pray that next time United score
I'd pray for just a little fun
That which bypassed your only son
I'd pray to know just what he won
When hands with holes let water run
I'd pray for peace to come and stay
I'd pray for snow on Christmas Day
I'd pray to live down by the bay
(Small lotto win, if that's OK)
I'd pray if it would come to pass
That prayers weren't as fragile as glass
That the big man showed some class
And got up off his great fat ass
Just what I'd pray for, I can't tell
For me and him don't get on well
His house is only good to sell
To those afraid to burn in hell
So I don't pray, I find it odd
To clasp my hands, 'donate' a wad
I'd sooner give to a firing squad
And if He ever turns up, don't give me a nod...