He sat on a park bench crucifix in his hands
The top few buttons on his shirt torn undone; he had feet made of clay
As the cross fell between his knees silently he lifted his gaze still looking for something, still looking for someone
He can't even picture in dreams but he'll wait a lifetime to meet

It's a wager he's willing to make
He told me there he has never had to question his faith
That was before a boy of maybe 10 turned to him to say
"Dad, will heaven be worth all this pain?'

He could tell from his face the boy knew he was lying
He asked, "Does it ever get hard believing in nothing?
When you look through the trees tell me what it is you think you see."
I see splendor among oak, blonde leaves resting upon temporary homes

Yet he was somewhat surprised I grasp beauty without the divine
All I know is that this sky will last longer than I
Where vice and virtue both blur and falter
With a prayer in nostalgic poor taste down by the alter