What I Need To Believe

Sunday morning church,
without a doubt, 
always began with the parking place search. 

Tuesdays nights
my dad went to the trustees 
to talk about fixing the lights and cutting down trees. 

Thursdays after school
I practiced singing to the pews, 
but more often then not, I got in trouble because I just talked, talked, talked. 

Fridays was a configuration of the youth.
Of course my father made me go, 
and even though my brother had fun he would never let it show. . 

So it went until February fifteenth,
when I woke up to my mothers screams,
and my father on the floor, deceased.  

Sunday mornings I slept in late. 

Tuesdays we watched TV.

Thursday nights I went to free skate. 

Fridays I cried myself to sleep. 

I don't believe in God anymore, 
I never go to church. 
Theres only one thing I need to believe, 
And that's my father looking down on me. 

I know he is around somewhere, 
a ghost made out of air. 

As long as I am breathing
I know that he is near.