God has pens.
The sacred is not found,
it is embodied.
You and me, we are the living temples.
Our mouths, the chalice.
Our eyes, the windows.
Our hearts, the doors.
And with our hands
we write the songs that get heaven's attention,
and we write the sermons that seize the sleepy:
"Rest later. You don't want to miss this."
So we must use the power of our ink
as if the world is waiting to be roused
and relieved of its cynicism,
because it is.
Be like Gutenberg, my friend...
fire up your press, and publish your perspectives.
Type, click, print, push 'send', hit 'OK'.
Get your ideas, and ideals, out there.
It's time. Don't you hear the bells ringing?
it is embodied.
You and me, we are the living temples.
Our mouths, the chalice.
Our eyes, the windows.
Our hearts, the doors.
And with our hands
we write the songs that get heaven's attention,
and we write the sermons that seize the sleepy:
"Rest later. You don't want to miss this."
So we must use the power of our ink
as if the world is waiting to be roused
and relieved of its cynicism,
because it is.
Be like Gutenberg, my friend...
fire up your press, and publish your perspectives.
Type, click, print, push 'send', hit 'OK'.
Get your ideas, and ideals, out there.
It's time. Don't you hear the bells ringing?