Filter the Truth

Save your grace

For Sundays and seders

And seek your savior's grace,

So you can save your place in heaven's line,

If you believe in that sorta thing.

Saints say the same thing,

So I'll decline the ride

I won't be taken on one,

I'd rather go out and walk

See what the woods have to say--

The secrets they hold

They're embedded in the bark

In the soil, in the dark,

If you listen on the wind

You can hear it whisperin'

And you may hear it different than me

Who even knows if it's the same to begin?

So I interface with the forest

Face to face

So my source is

The first

And not known thru seconds and thirds,

Then the meaning isn't stepped on

Chewed up, spit out,

Regurgitated--you

might even heard i made it,

Like gold that gets old

and looks tarnished and faded,

If you want to find God

Don't ask the man

They made into a monument,

They'll want to all follow you

If you learn to filter the truth.