Here is the Church                               (c.) 1996 Matthew W. Pittaway

 

 

When I was a kid in Sunday school

I’d sneak out and play by the stream

I didn’t see God in the lessons

But in the wind and the trees

 

The rules seemed to hard to follow

I wanted to grow up and be free

Seeking adventure and treasure

And never looking too close at me

 

On the TV so much was happening

I didn’t want life to slip by

had to be right in the middle

protesting and getting high

 

Fast as I went I could not seem to catch

the elusive dreams that I had

In my frustration I only blamed others

The devil, the system, my dad

 

Then in a jail cell I realized

You can’t blame everyone else

For the garbage in the world’s back yard

You have to start with yourself

 

And inside of every person

Religious or otherwise

Is a small piece of heaven

Waiting to be realized

 

Here is the church,   Here is the steeple

Open up the doors    And see all the people

 

Here is the church,  made up of people

Some even come   equipped with a steeple