All There Is
Bad Religion
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This song goes out
to all the hopeless sinners,
with grave allegiances,
so meaningless and vain,
the walking wounded in a pageant of contenders,
who balance on a rail of pain for just a pail of
rain.
And everything is barely missed, blood relations
and bricks
my expression, my confession, add it up, extract a
lesson, more than this,
once again, like a bullet as a friend, tell me:
can that be all there is?
In my rectory of doubt, I kneel to pray like one
devout,
as time the great gray dreamless sleep of a
useless modern god
erodes away each sorry day as wretched adams, one
hell to pay--
content upon a rail of pain for just a little
rain.
And everything is dearly missed, blood relations
and bricks my expression, my confession, add it
up, extract a lesson, more than this,
once again, like a bullet as a friend, tell me:
can that be all there is?
There’s an endless disposition,
and it doesn’t mean a goddamn thing—
there’s space for a paper-airplane race in the eye
of a hurricane.
And if pigs could fly, then surely so could I,
but this pedestrian knows better than to even try,
my divinity is caught between the colors of a
butterfly.
And everything is dearly missed, blood relations
and bricks
my expression, my confession, add it up, extract a
lesson and more than this,
once again, like a bullet as a friend, tell me:
can that be all there is?
All there is?
to all the hopeless sinners,
with grave allegiances,
so meaningless and vain,
the walking wounded in a pageant of contenders,
who balance on a rail of pain for just a pail of
rain.
And everything is barely missed, blood relations
and bricks
my expression, my confession, add it up, extract a
lesson, more than this,
once again, like a bullet as a friend, tell me:
can that be all there is?
In my rectory of doubt, I kneel to pray like one
devout,
as time the great gray dreamless sleep of a
useless modern god
erodes away each sorry day as wretched adams, one
hell to pay--
content upon a rail of pain for just a little
rain.
And everything is dearly missed, blood relations
and bricks my expression, my confession, add it
up, extract a lesson, more than this,
once again, like a bullet as a friend, tell me:
can that be all there is?
There’s an endless disposition,
and it doesn’t mean a goddamn thing—
there’s space for a paper-airplane race in the eye
of a hurricane.
And if pigs could fly, then surely so could I,
but this pedestrian knows better than to even try,
my divinity is caught between the colors of a
butterfly.
And everything is dearly missed, blood relations
and bricks
my expression, my confession, add it up, extract a
lesson and more than this,
once again, like a bullet as a friend, tell me:
can that be all there is?
All there is?