Weary

Johnny’s gettin’ tired
Of buryin’ all of his best friends.
The same relentless lesson –
You get busted even when you bend
And bend and bend.

And all good people,
Bound to get weary,
In this wicked world.
I am one.
I am weary.

Leon was a lover,
And Maurice was a fighter to his
Last breath.
Henry died a thousand miles,
From his mother and father,
That’s the loneliest death.

First they bash you
On the streets,
Then they kick you,
In the church,
They say, “God is angry
With you too.”
Rest in peace.
The good earth will accept you.

Johnny came from
A closet in the country,
He made all-state football.
The men were all men then,
The women loved the men,
And then he left it all,
When another voice called.

Five years later,
Johnny tried to tell his daddy,
Daddy hit him,
With a two by four.
Screaming, “Not my son.
No no no you ain’t my son!”

I hear that Jesus Christ comforted
the lepers,
When nobody else would.
I heard some Christians say,
“The good Lord hates a faggot,”
It was right in Johnny’s neighborhood.

I hear that God sees everything,
God remembers everything.
I hear that God is just waiting.
Everyone.
Waiting for everyone.

And all good people,
Bound to get weary,
In this wicked world.
I am one.
I am weary.

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