I never knew the true meaning of a heathen until someone asked me
"What do you believe in?"
And I stepped back
And I said I worship a higher being but I don't know it's name
Hell, it could even be a demon
But when it comes down to the prayers And the bottom of the stairs
Where the rest of your day waits and I dare call myself a saint
When I'm so unaware of what's standing right there
Who is watching over me and who even cares?
Why am I so scared to talk about religion? Almost like a secret mission to pray to whoever will listen
Though I can't put a label and I can't turn the tables
The anxiety will feed in

I guess I'll come to terms with the heathens