The Sun

Everything under the sun
Is getting burned
Everything under the moon
Is gonna sleep

And I think that one day soon
It's all gonna

Big bags of blood, or by inference, big bags of water
Stitched too tightly at the seams
Like packaging are hurtling through busy city streets
They're running fast, but what are they running from?

Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news
But I've been all around, I've seen the globe from upside down
There's no bearded man on a fiery throne
With angels blowing trumpets below and calling out his judgment sounds

If God exists in a place like this then
Where else could a god or goddess be if he or she is not trapped inside?
What if it's all just a black abyss and lips that kiss you
When you're sick or feeling just a little out of touch