In a plangent baritone he went off on a tangent Or maybe it went off on him but went and it was gone Wherever it was sent it went there though he never meant It to where tangents do once gone then they go on and on Though when they go revealing what the speaker is feeling And though he would not speak to me I hear him on TV Where he and God are in a pod there and he is a pea He says I am a sinner but he is a winner and A spinner of roles for souls with holes as I understand What a tangled web he weaves as he believes to deceive Though he is not deceiving me but himself I believe He says give it all to God through me and you will be free You can live the high life too through me vicariously Send me your money and I will send you a fantastic Plastic image of your Lord for the dashboard of your car A polyurethane Savior for wherever you are He believes and I do not though I believe he forgot What he was believing in so his crown of gold to win Became a quest for gold itself his crown left on the shelf Of heaven as the seven deadly sins live well within That hollow shell I know so well that smell of fakery Living well on the fear of hell in a success story Of heaven to sell by televangelical glory And I believe he does not worship any but himself Though he can make the many wonder underneath his spell In happy hope of heaven as he threatens them with hell Give if they want to live forever when now is never How they now will never see what they saw hardly ever When he says jump who ask how high to live that way then die Well may he fool his tools this way he is not fooling me I may not make it plangent but would like to make it clear How I see now these bullies are their own worst enemies Not even the plangent can rein in such tangents as these When they open up a vein then the pain comes rushing out Seen nor wished to hear for these plangent tangents are of fear What many do anyone can too but to do this who Must be a preacher not a teacher just not curious And so the truth comes out he is afraid about his doubt Still he has whipped himself up now till he is furious Big talk with that reverse effect of being too little A little too loud and proud a little too much spittle Fantastic polyurethane in vain getting brittle Tangents like these speak to the speaker's inadequacies Though in a plangent baritone afraid to be alone Afraid to be together too with us like me and you +Steven Curtis Lance Copyright MMXIV