Grim Grandeur

There are strange things done by sounds shot like a gun,
            to the men who long for rock;
The concert air is a ghastly pair
            of smoke and sweat ‘round the clock;
The darkened light gives much fright
            while the band is a curse and cuss doer.
 It’s supposed to be fun, but I’m the only one
            who failed to see the Grim Grandeur.

I sat on the floor right next to the door while the piercing sound it boomed.
Observing the crowd I didn’t seem proud for an evil presence it loomed;
It came at a price for I saw in a trice of the innocent faces it devoured.
Kids were smoking, kids were fighting; and I bet they hadn’t showered.

Yet taint be dead it’s my awful dread of the fiery grave that pains;
So I wanted to tell them that, foul or fair, Christ loves them all the same;
That within this sin smitten world that we were so voraciously hurled lies a hope that screams louder than any instrument, yell or amp put together;
A light so bright it will burn all your tears and fears to as light as a feather.

My voice goes unheard like the cry of a bird to the tide of a rushing river.
The unchanging souls destroy my goals and make my heart do a quiver.
The sinful hearts strike like darts then turn to their music idol;
Not knowing the path they take can make them suicidal.

Screams of false preaching and drivel teaching tugs at the mighty beast;
The tempting allure making them impure is the part that is loved least.
The loud, loud bass that would crack any vase turned my guts sour.
The resilient foe forced me to go, for I swore I would not give in to its power.

There are strange things done by sounds shot like a gun,
            to the men who long for rock;
The concert air is a ghastly pair
            of smoke and sweat ‘round the clock;
The darkened light gives much fright
            while the band is a curse and cuss doer.
 It’s supposed to be fun, but I’m the only one
            who failed to see the Grim Grandeur.