There's an old stone church at the end of my block
between a Burger King and a grassy parking lot
with the doors chained shut and the windows capped with bars
sometimes I sit there on the steps and watch the people pass in dirty cars
Chorus:
Why am I drawn to something deep inside those stone walls?
What is this part of me that’s always drowned in doubt?
Is this regret what I once lost behind a schoolyard?
Or is it something bigger that’s just dying for the chance to break out?
Every 3 and one half minutes the subway roars beneath the street
and the asphalt starts to shiver and for a moment I still feel
how you used to make me tremble and how I almost made you God
and the older I became the more I found myself alone and lost
Chorus:
Why am I drawn to something deep inside those stone walls?
What is this part of me that’s always drowned in doubt?
Is this regret what I once lost behind a schoolyard?
Or is it something bigger that’s just dying for the chance to break out?
I'm like a child who's shaking standing near the basement door
it scares me to think what I might find alive in there
It’s grown too big and groans too loud to ignore
is that monster in my closet the one thing I've been aching for?
There's an old stone church
I used to fear God. At least, I feared the image that lived in my mind. As I grew older, I realized that the less I could imagine God, the less God seemed real. Now it's as if I only feel God like a brush on my shoulder, or a breath on my skin, and when I turn around, nothing is there. God seems to dance around my intuitions. But something keeps drawing me back to shadowed corners where we first met. I don't know why I can’t just let God go. Maybe I'm not alone after all - maybe there really is a monster in my closet.