I sat in the pew knowing I’m just not like them

Just trust and believe, at times sounds a bit naive

I guess the Thomas in me will take me straight to purgatory  

According to them with such faithlessness, I’ll never reach glory

 Isn’t that the story?

I sat on those hard pews, knowing I prayed earnest prayers

Do you mean cause I listen to R&B, my G-d didn’t hear me?

I give into my flesh at times; I’m just not that strong

They say press in, and you won’t sin, but I’m sorry I guess I’m dead wrong

I look around and see perfection, knowing that in no way I belong

I even sat in the choir stand, consecrated and tried that way

Each time, I failed so miserably; my flesh continue to betray

Wow, how do you do it? I see no signs of struggle with life

Looks like they haven’t been through my personal pain or strife

I guess it’s my wicked way that keeps me astray

But I feel that my G-d loves me anyway, sounds insane?

I sat in the pew last Sunday listening for something in their voice

Trying to swallow all the things they say, some statements seemed foisted

 I know it’s in the Good Book, but I seem to always fall short

Just feels like I’m the only one with this issue, so this pew feels so uncomfortable

Which one of you found it as hard as I do?

I sat in the pew, prayed to Him in gratitude, I’m no fool, knowing it’s only Christ

Entering His gate with thanksgiving, I owe Him my very life

I just don’t color in the lines, am I fooling myself, Lord give me a sign

Cause you made me who I am, from the contrariness to conformity

But to what I choose to apply it to seems the real query

I sat at the back when I was youth, opening doors, walking the floors

Sitting people in seats, and trying hard to establish a good rapport

But with whom did I do that for? Does that give me a good score?

Today I feel like I don’t fit, maybe I seen too much of the world to submit

But in this world is where you have to live, being of it is another commit

I sat in the pew in church, feeling estrange to people that I should embrace

To whom the blame belong for not feeling an arm around my waist

A little for me, a little for them, cause I know it’s a two-way road

But most people like me just stop going, not knowing if their story will be told

Cause it’s dreadful to feel you just don’t have a place to belong  

Especially it’s the very place at times, His presences seems so strong

So I remain sitting on this hard pew, hoping that maybe next Sunday is my day

Maybe someone will speak of lonely days, of finding it hard to pray

Of trouble seeming to last always, of feeling lost in this big life maze

Of not understand why things are this way, of why love seems to be a game

Of how everyone does not have to have the same display

So until then I’ll sit in the pew, trying to shake off my Sunday morning blues

Copyright © 2006 P.P. Vol. 1