My Sundays are filled with dread...

as off I go to pay homage to the dead...

I sit in the wooden pews...

praying that my every sin I will lose...

I feel rather uncomfortable here...

as I catch the gaze of all my peers...

they look at me with disdain...

little do they realize my pain...

I am not a pious man that's for sure...

yet every Sunday I go and endure...

the preaching and the praying...

hoping that God's word will keep me from straying...

I realize my soul is lost...

my heart has been covered with Hell's frost...

still I go hoping that God's word...

will reach my daughter and keep her forever cured...

this fate I wish upon no mortal...

so laugh, snicker and chortle...

as I kneel before your God...

thinking that all this is rather odd...

pray for me not, my soul is black...

I left for Hell's eternity a good while back...

I am unredeemable, can't you see...

this is the face beneath my mask, this is me...

I remain to be a hollow example for her to see...

she is all that matters anymore to me...

if there is only one prayer He hears...

save her from all of my fears...

keep her in His warmth and light...

make sure she does what is right...

forget about this dying, wicked man...

as only a forgiving God can...