Born to a fair and middle class life, We wandered and wondered without any strife, four good ol’ boys who loved tussle and swim, to flirt with the girls there was no harm therein, but all that would change from the roof to the floor, when one horrid day came a knock at the door.
Mother and dad were good folks but it seems, they had not yet been schooled in the prophetic dreams, they learned they were sinners and destined to fall, these men at the door who dare gave us their all, instilled in grand doubt and made good things seem pall.
A promised grand life if we follow their book, dad said he would read it but he never did look, he went by their word as a word is a bond, the way old folks did in old days that are gone, so we joined with their church and were baptized us four, and all because someone gave a knock at the door.
Now Sundays were different with no time to explore, we’d sit in the church and keep still to be sure, but being a young lad who didn’t set very good, got my first whippin’ and in the corner I stood, the teacher told dad how I had misbehaved, and I was the lad not even jesus could save.
A dark cloud hung over my once happy face, to be safe and content we did prayers to have grace, but these things they promised we already had, long before the time we found out we were bad, but god we found out he was keeping a score, from the men who had come and knocked at our door.
They taught us of freedom of choice and freewill, then took it away with fear torments of hell, we learned that the devil got into our skins, that gay folks were bad and loud laughters a sin, but I looked for the day I would once turn eighteen, and with two middle fingers I returned to my dreams.
Leaving was easy, adjusting was hard, but still no regrets that I turned in my card, I learned how to choose and the consequence mine, that I could do good without all of the fines, the guilt it still lingers and thoughts come is scores, from so long ago I heard a knock at the door.
Is everyone crazy, I think that they are, confessing their sins and then sinning some more, responsibly daft and delayed recompense, excuses and reasons for time on the fence, waiting for someone to even their score, hate and division then hating some more, ironic hypocrisy blend with the days, the living and loving so often delayed, to wait on another to come make it right, when we have the power to end the long fight.