Sunday

Every Sunday my momma made me go to church
Pretty sure it’s been that way ever since my birth
Not sure what it’s worth
In a world with all these problems
I feel like I’m robbin myself of precious time
In a world full of atrocities and crime
What is the point of asking a God for help that doesn’t answer?
I need an answer
But none ever come
Rule of thumb don’t ask God for help and expect them to answer
I need an answer
Every Sunday I wonder what I’m worth
Even though it’s pretty clear that Church
Doesn’t help my problems I sit there and wonder
What would my life have been like if I didn’t go under?
Even if I could get out I never want to
Even when I win I think I lose
Every day something new slips away
And I owe it all to Sunday