She was my friend for fifteen seconds
And I spoke every ill imaginable---
But she was my friend.
My pride is so arrogant
And is why I am poor.
I am as good as a grandmaster
But a villain in my heart persists
Wherever that sore is touched.
I backbite my dad;
I slander honest people;
I get angry at all the world.
Only so far as that sore is touched
And my wound is incurable.
And it aches and agonizes 
Every sorrowful burden is passed---
I chose a very miserable career
Knowing I am better than a bestseller
But not noticed by anyone.
And so I am cruel to a good woman
Who was my friend for fifteen seconds
And I can't help myself.
Would the success I get gain me more humility?
Or make me like another Arrogant Author I often run into?

Oh my people, so beautiful in the congregations
How I see your light, and it is an inspiration.
Yet the shepherds have spoiled, and made your sun go down.
You know not what the path is that leads you to the crown.

If I had a modern worship song for you
It'd be to have your faith be proved
And to live life in victory
And wrestle death and Satan's sting.

If I had one thing for you to say...
It'd be that life may not be so gay.
For fear and failure are a common theme.
Riches are not, they just are not our king.

A great world exists in heavenly temples...
Love God, and your neighbor with all reverence.
Know you're light is the light of my life.
The face of joy is my most precious sight.

Yet mourning comes in this life of sorrows
Great men of God are thrown down to the gallows
Of torment and sin and sorrows strong.
Know that your shepherds led you all wrong.

They said, "Life is about Christ and nothing else."
Not loving your neighbor, but they said, "Love yourself."
They say Love God for He is king...
Yet the Law of God they leave it be.

So here's my last stand on this hill, I sing so wretchedly,
Give me faith, for it is my burden, without enmity.
For sorrows rack me every single day
And Satanic forces wish to have their way...

There is no sin for swallowing a bitter pill...
Respite comes in another life...
Make heaven your spiritual wife.
That's the way of life.

The people know they're
Evil, and will slay that which
Kills their dark brethren.
Like Vikings on a warfield
They only know 'bout vengeance. 

They terrorize their brothers and neighbors
And they make war with all the other lands;
And when their friend dies, they know only war.
For when the nations will defend themselves,
They only have on ethic, and that's kill.

Hey Jude, did you make it bad?
Did you take my novels and make them better?
Did you sell them down the river
And let the editors make them marketable?
Did you find her, though?
The beautiful Laurel Wreath?
Are you rich and fabulous because of me?
Am I Kilgore Trout? Just a Paperback writer
That you took the name, and did some tweaking
To my themes, and made them yours?
Did you improve upon me,
And with no desire to be true to yourself
Take and market me? Sell my soul down the river?
Am I just living in a Yellow Submarine
As you, Death, dance, oh Santa Muerte?
The skeletons walk, and clatter,
As I have the curse of Bunyan and Climacus;
They say it is because of pride,
I say it's because of the envy of the Demons.
Did you take a sad song and make it better?
Was it my sad song, that you made better?
I don't know... for I am poor and need my books;
I will not sell the rights for nothing
And I will not change them for the market.
Maybe that is why you always win.
Do you have the whole world believing you are the Apostle
And took my fantasy as your name?
Did you embrace my delusions?
Did you become my Doppelganger?
Are you making the whole world believe in magic, again?

My worst fear is realized.
I made no impact, but the faith grew.
I knew it'd be the case though...
But, I still believe in God, and Christ.
I guess I will have heaven.
I'm okay with that.
I'm worthless, unprofitable
Crazy, prideful and only a genius.

Driving down, my dad does something so nice.
I put down the back windows---knowing I shouldn't.
They get stuck, as I knew they would.
Stressed, because the realtors sent us a check
For our house in the mail we didn't want---these are the times we live in---
And worried about Social Security and being homeless,
I guess I just didn't remember it was broken. But, I put down the windows
And we dazedly drove for two hours looking for a place
To get our car fixed the next day.
We found it, with no help from me.

I saw her there, with her large bosom exposed
Along the sides, and a perfect face
And I said, "Have mercy!"
I can't see it, for I need it.
And it is frustrating me.
How I can't imagine those men
Who watch porn, how they're frustrated
As this beautiful doe's bosom
Is there, exposed to me
And I realize I need her to be happy
But there upon the screen,
She is a far away thing I cannot touch.
Arrive! Hephzibah! Save me!
Arrive! Jerusalem! Take me to your courts!
Arrive! Beaulah! Make me a happy man!

The saints I know today
Were a little melancholy
And a little bit of a bore.
Burdened by overworking
And grieved by doing good.
They think, and meditate,
Wondering if their good deeds
Are a crime. For they seem punished
By doing welldoing, and I understand
Satan wishes to cause our ministries
To fail, and give up and feel sad
By means of welldoing.
Let Charity revive our souls
And know that good is not a sin
And that by doing it, you will
Attain to life everlasting
And be with Hephzibah.
For shyly was Don on the trail;
And Sam was a bit despondent;
And I a bit avoidant;
The Pastor a bit overwhelmed.
Let Charity refresh our souls
Through one another's company.