I used to think
I heard God calling
From inside Church doors
That I was never
Allowed to cross
Wanted to follow
Be with God
With the other sheep
On row number 17
That's where
I knew I would
Find my Jesus
Not in a bible
Or in my father's sermons
But in row number 17

Driving home
From school
One August afternoon
I thought I heard
His voice
Climbing the steps
I opened the door
Looking for my Jesus
Taking in
Bible smell
And footstep echo
I found number 17
Sitting down
I waited
Waited for my Jesus

I sat for hours
Watching the
Cross behind the pulpit
Praying to believe
I wanted to find God
That day
But all I found was
A man
Hanging on that cross
I went home crying
Because I knew then
That my Jesus was dead.