I don't know
What to believe anymore.
Hypocrites,
Critics,
And finicky women
All shake their heads
And whisper behind dusty, burgundy curtains.
So my morals are mixed up
And my heart's lost for words.
My conscience can barely decide
Whether it's coming or going.
I'm starting to wonder
If they believe for the right reasons
or rather,
For the security of that Better Place.
Maybe they'll be reincarnated as an old potato, or a dime
Lose beneath the suffocating barriers
Of lime-green and corduroy
Sofa cushions.