God doesn’t live
In the church,
And may only
Visit there on Sundays,
Or any day
Some to be burned palms
Pull the chords
To summons Him.
This city so full of sin,
God can’t afford to
Stay in any one place
Too long,
Carrying His all mighty
Broom to sweep up
The litter the world
Has left at His feet,
God didn’t build this city,
He just manages it,
And only charges prayers
As rent,
And as sad as those
Who occupy his houses,
He sometimes
Hears their prayers.
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