Cowlick

From cowlick to creases

I've never met Jesus

but I've run my hands

through long hair ..

thick with thorns

From fruit juice to bourbon

I've never been certain

but I'll swear to God

that my fingers brushed horns.

Does that make my hymn book a fairytale?

Does that make your Gospel the truth?

Does that make my beer and my cigarettes,

worthy of serving to you ?

Lord tell me who to confess to...

is it you? or your bloodied bandana?

Lord tell me how to address you....

is it sire , or liar , or Father ?

From cradle to wheelchair

I never did much care

but I'll bet my faith

that you're sorry you're you.

From cowlick to creases

I've never met Jesus

But I hope to God

that someday

he'll be true.