Little Steps

So I've got questions, about what you're teaching me.
If it's all about believing, why are you telling me who to be?
It sort of seems to me, that your brain is all you've got.
You've got to keep it unholstered, with the safety off.
So maybe I'll believe, and maybe I won't.
But it doesn't matter who I choose to love, it doesn't matter...it just don't.

How can you sit there, like you're right and I'm wrong.
You speak to me in fables, like I speak to you in song.
And maybe I rhyme too much, but sometimes it's enough.
To let'em see you're coming, let them see that they're not sot so tough.
And when nobody's looking, try to pick at their brains.
Tell them you can see them, show them they're insane.

(Double break)

I watch my father sit and wait, for an act of God.
'Maybe it's weird', he says, 'But you know it's not that odd'.
'You see everyone wants, to believe in something more,
Something somehow better, then what they know is in store'
It's like some true prognostical pathological, faith in fate.
As if this end will be different, as if this time it isn't hate.

For all the hate in faith, they talk a lot about light.
And peace and love, it makes me want them to be right
But I've still got questions, and some things I won't believe
Except now I'm full of answers, that make no sense to me
(short pause)
So as life keeps getting weirder, I remember what my father said
'Try not to look behind you, and just take little steps'