The pits of hell,

The pits of hell,

And the eternal fire,

The home of the king,

To the haters and liars.

The shadow of the morgue,

The darkness of the day.

He's the doubt that will cross your mind,

As you question god.

Why, these temptations?

Trials, tribulations?

Why does his hand,

Pause to heal,

The wreckage we've caused?

God's our protector,

Our savior of sin.

He knows our thoughts,

That are deep within.

But why does he sit,

Watch the devestation. At hand,

As war escalades,

And sin poverishes the land.

He's our father,

Our Shepard from hurt,

But I am,

From the beatings I've took.

But as I sit,

With these thoughts at mind,

These rhymes just flowing,

From this pencil of mine.

Satans made to fall,

So we can stand back up.

We will visit gods halls,

And one day drink from his cup.

But why, does his power,

Pause over our sin.

As it sweeps us away,

And drowns us from within.

He sent me the answer,

One dark, stormy day.

As my doubts,

Flew his way.

He is our father,

Just and true.

We must learn to hold on,

To what we might lose.

Our father and friends,

Our bible and prayer.

Hang on dearly,

For all that you care.

All your doubts,

And all your thoughts.

Your passage to heaven,

Your faith will wrought.