What if God is just a word we made to describe things we don't understand? What if the promised land is a corner store or the quiet place in the back of the bar; Where you can hear your pride drop and passion drips out of thought and we're left with lonely and depressed, a failure to connect with reality/existence/humanity our sanity is something so precious but lost in an instant. Who are we to call this world our home? Visiting hours when we know we no longer belong. A human family's been torn apart, built from pieces of a broken heart and I cut myself picking them up. The blood runs and I let it finish the race, there's a constellation in my eyes but I hide my face, you're looking for my soul but only find the hole where it escaped, my mouth spit it out when I tried to relive this masterpiece I created, applause and a standing ovation but the people are gone. The chairs are empty, the stage is dried sweat and echoes of a man who lost himself in the shadow of his own doubt. And he'll be back tomorrow night to do it all again, scars and sins on sale for just the price of a chance to win. But maybe God is not just another name we give the gaps in our belief. Maybe there's a god inside of our dreams, there to push back when our hope leans a little too far, waiting for the moment we whisper a cry for help and ready to give us wings when we fall. 