Holy Toast - AllttA, 20 SYL, Mr. J. Medeiros

In people without religion

In steeples crowded with pigeons

In visions of evil

Through the key hole out of the prison

Without a decision, fishing, in a father that listens

In a tower, around a collar, in Obama’s position

For the power, dollars, division, and the honor it’s given

In a martyr, in women, in Shawn Carter, in all children

Shrouded in Turin

Burning in shrubs, learning to love, rounding a turban

On the curb, in the club with a bourbon and drunk

In sermons, in a permanent slump determined to flunk

As a vermin making earnings from trunks

Serving the junks

Cus I need Him most, bleeding on the cement

In a sea of demons- beaming

Being treated with a chemo dose

Seated with a vino within a scene of latinos

He was seen hosting a feast in His medieval clothes

Cleaning all our feet with soap, speaking to ghosts

Leading a pope, beaten and broke

Even on a piece of toast

And He the most eaten with the least

In a fetus, in a golden fleece

Meeting with the chief, with elitists

In a genius, when that athlete was defeated

In the math, in an atom blast, every time my team wins

To hide a lie and to achieve spins

For me to be idolized, on a drive, for my own reasons

Because they tell me it’s a lesson in our rebirth

Because in hell our breath burns and our knees hurt

Because we know He knelt with lepers and freed serfs

Because it helps sell records and t-shirts

Books, hats, stickers, sweaters, and knee skirts

And in good, bad, and indifferent weather I see works

In the hood tatted, with little help from the priest circuit

In the woods, mad at belief, and a tree serpent

And where the church is, and the worst is

These surface statements lead’em to a basement where they hurt kids

Sure did, burning the earth, cursed, learning to surf

First, with a thirst, and this myrrh

He was bursting from a nova, surfacing from a coma

Said the person who rolled up cursing his melanoma

When I was worthy to no one and now I’m worthy to know Him

With iron sharpening iron with fire, lions, and sultans

Admired, tired, with liars, with friars, choirs exalting

And now I’m revolting, as a squire, high in the vaulted ceilings

In kneeling, bent in a tent begging for healing

Wheeling and dealing, begging for rent, ain’t that appealing

At least’s that’s what he said before his hands started feeling

So the yeast ain’t in my bread to recall the land I am free from

And He is just one and He’s all three

Calling me to give some love to teens with palsy

As seen on TV, we sing till all free

As seen with three Kings, so bring some offerings

Think

Is it a cult of personality

A cultural excursion, multiverse, a formality

The bulk of all our worth a sullied earth an abnormality

A skull for every version a person who passes casually

Calloused at birth an Alice in search of causality

Plausible audible now are all called applaudable

Shouting like Roland Orzabal will all fall like quarters in ears

If you doubting the magician is here

Listen if you can hear to the heart of it all

To the subtle consciousness that has started it all

To the chart on the wall even to the art of the fall

Reaching to the bark was the arch of it all

Reaching to the bark was the arch of it all

Reaching to the bark was the arch of it all

Reaching to the bark was the arch of it all