I won't be around this burning bush,
Ill step right through the flames..
Oh god, forgive me for all that I can't explain.
Semantics in brimstone, and those fires from the lord,
will my unrepented sins pass to my child when they're born.
You can call me Ishmael, at least my parents did...
This veil represents the white whale of their sins,
and I am ill conceived, yet carved upon a bone..
dissected ribs and holy skin, taken from a man that you have known.
What have I become to you?
What have I become to myself?
I was a victim in a series of accidents, as we all are.
I never planned or hoped that this could ever go so far..well.
you're a child of ill-resputed lust, dripping from a carnal mouth,
these words have build a manger, but they'll never make a house.
Comprised of smoke, empty alters of bone and rows of pews full of saints,
I know not any one of their names, but alas they could say the same.
And they've gathered to see the unveiling of the sermon on the mount.
Oh my God! what have I don't, i've let you all down...
What have I become to you..
what have I become to myself.