Momma prays the collar stays and fake black leather dress-up shoes to keep me looking clean and prude for Jesus to see us and the snacks that we leave crushed there in the carpet below the pews. I don't need a sign. If it's fake, then that's alright with me I guess I'll never know what's really right. I'll just keep on playing like all of it feels so real to me and God's got me a mansion with the angels in heaven. I was told in Sunday school that "God's got real big plans for you." I hope it's true. If I can keep from the Devil's drink my grandkids' kids will remember me and speak of my return, when Jesus resurrects all of the righteous boys and girls and all my stupid asshole friends that tortured me in high school will be cast in the flames. Oh god I can't wait! And I know that God hates my yellin, but I hope there's windows in heaven where I can watch them burn. I don't need a sign. If it's fake, then that's alright with me I guess I'll never know what's really right. I'll just keep on playing like all of it feels so real to me and God's got me a mansion in the sky.
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