On tablets of stone His words were given
Yet upon deaf ears did they soon fall
Burning bushes mean little to those who can’t see
Graven images never answered by the gods they call
For centuries we’ve wandered our own private deserts
Hope and salvation possible with but a word
Instead we cast aside the compass once given
Seeking reassurance from the success we prefer
No temple carries the key to eternity
Truth lies not in men who wear holy clothes
Sacraments and water mean little to heaven
Our path to redemption only He knows
Mankind is selective in repeating His wisdom
Words often sited taken out of context
Yet we spend fortunes preparing for our passing
Forever fearful that it’ll be our turn next
