Dad’s in the bathroom and wrapped in a bed sheet,
Mom’s in the basement and rotting like meat.
I walk out the door, ‘cause I must kill some more.
Two fellow students lie dead in the hallway,
While bloodstains and bullet holes riddle the walls.
I throw down the gun when I see what I’ve done.
The nightmare ends, it’s all pretend,
But somewhere that pain is real.
They kill with shots, we kill with thoughts,
Tell me, who’s the worse sinner, then?
The faithful and faithless are asking where God is,
You’re all broken-hearted and angry as hell.
But God can’t be found where your hatred abounds.
The doctrine of grace wasn’t meant for a killer,
If Jesus didn’t teach that, they’re saying it now.
They locked me away, then praised God they’re okay.
Wait, this is not the way we were taught.
We once preached that the lost could be found.
Where did that go?
Up in flames with the witches!
Retributive justice became the new gospel…
This cannot be right!
The church is now a monument to those who never needed grace in the first place.
I curse and degrade those who don’t sin like I do,
But now I’ve uncovered this horrible truth:
That sometimes a killer’s not nearly as cruel as me.