Holy Ground


Written By Tim Scott Poma

If this is holy ground
Then bury my fears 6 feet under ground
And I will make not a single sound
As my fears begin to drown
For to long we have been seen as clowns
Laughed at and left for dead all around
Because we dare not make a sound
For fear that they would flush us down

Our precious time is lost
When were staring at a cross
For we miss the interpretations
And the meaning is lost in mass communication
Still a bidding our time and holding our tongue’s
Waiting for our savoir to come
Have we missed the point of this lesson?
That the man we want is on the run
From his true identity
Wasting millions of dollars
Searching for a remedy
When what we need is underneath
Our skin, our chin, our crooked grin

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