Temple.

And the people say
Mutterings at which I only grasp, red iPod strapped
To my arm, and songs in the palms of my hands
They seem like Nazis so sure of themselves
Why are people so sure of themselves?
They certainly have no more knowledge than I do
And yet they laugh and jump in the pool
Are they the children of God or just his mindless tools?

I am not afraid to die
I have been forged from something stronger than steel
My life has taken twists and turns, sometimes unreal
My last meal was a dozen beers and eight hours of meditation
I stay religiously on my medication, but
Does this make me a good citizen or a cretin?
I think I've proved the purposelessness of motion and still
The people play and smile

I don't know why I get in evil or foul moods
I wish I or someone somewhere understood
My heart feels it is an engine for good
And repels all invaders, hideous in form
With mechanical intentions inside their heads
When I look at other people, I wish they were dead
Or that I could be mercifully extinguished
My fickle outer form shed

I don't know why it's love or hate with me
Black or white and no shades of grey with me
I'm certainly not a bad person in my own mind
But I am persecuted relentlessly by demons I cannot find
Nor exorcise
I hope my molecules disperse to regions separated my miles
Maybe our star will explode and some bit become divine

I have a mental illness that is hard to bear
People tell me to get off the fence but they don't know
How hard it is to commit to something, to care
When your mind and your corporeal body lean elsewhere
When all you've ever been bred for was implosion or god
How disappointing in the end to find just another vagrant
With the intelligence of ancients and the presence of a slob

If I could do it all over again I would avoid
As many people as I could, to keep them from pain
When I ran away and left all my promises wanting
I would hug the nearest saguaro cactus to drive me insane
And be removed from people otherwise tamed
And if women came along who tried to coddle and explain
I would erupt in a shower of needles and bathe their brains

In the blood of the Antichrist
And no part of me remain;
I'm sorry I can't be who you think I am.