junk

Their god is the junk, and they take the lord's name in vain.
Their god, their god, your god. Not my anything. Not my refrain.
Numb your senses. Yes the violence is senseless, we all feel defenseless, but to feel is strength, to live should be relentless.
Your eyes frozen sand dollars, your bones protrude. Your soul lives in squalor and you're stuck in a mood. Between a rock and a quiet afternoon.
Silence is deadly, but it can also be friendly, when staring at your reflection through the back of a spoon, your blood dancing a medley. You can close your eyes in a hurricane, but you'll still get knocked down. Out of sight, but in mind, you can't mask the world spinning round.
Your god is just junk. Your holy temple's rotted. A fix will not fix what was never meant to be solid.