Every once in a while, I'm asked the question:
Hey Ben, why don't you have a religion?
Of course, a quick response of "none of youre business" follows
But why? Because I see flaws. Flaws in the seas and the sky
Earth and everything on it.
How then, can god be perfect? All his subjects are cracked
broken pottery that couldn't stand the test of time
Can't be filled, now spills
out in the open for everyone to see
be mocked and fucked over for its imperfections.
But if, lets say, lets say
Whichever religion is real.
God or gods, whichever you choose
then isn't it true that we were made
the exact way we were meant to be?
In some kind of dramatic irony
If we were all perfect we'd be so boring
That cracked pottery now sealed
factory line, no difference from any other in its time
I'm thinking now these cracks are character
each jagged edge a twist in the story of my life
your life, a different pot, different cracks
now seen as a piece of art, no piece of junk
could be this beautiful.
When people ask why I don't have a religion
I tell them "None of your business"
But I always have that hope
I cling to when I see these flaws
a hope that even if there is no God
We still have our own broken pottery
a scratched record, a cut body,
a hurting soul
our own flawed perfection.