The Church
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It's a dark place I go on Sunday nights
We call it The Church but only when the time is right
Everyone dresses in black and in the flesh
Some with leather boots and others with silk capes
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The lights are always dim
With a hint of somber grins
The music throughout is loud
And so is the melancholy crowd
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Rings of all sorts proudly hail
They parade on noses, tongues, nipples, and in ale
Makeup ranges from pale white to black and red
And silver chains adorn the mesh
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Dancing is nothing short of bliss
Where everyone surrenders to the natural flow of hiss
Some move fast and jump quick
While others take delight in hovering in the mist
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A bunch of freaks the norm seems to see
Bad seeds born of earth and sea
We are certainly different and distinct
And we like to think of ourselves as we
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We care for life, dirt, and speed
We do nothing wrong except for being free
We celebrate diversity and rejoice in deeds
And avoid settling in old patterns of creed
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We are sons and daughters
Who play at night to recover
We are also students and part of the workforce
With our own ideals and love for our mothers
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We accept and respect the norm
But freedom we ask in the name of the Lord
Let us be and judge us not
We are like you, only unique and sometimes quite bold
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Gabriel Alfonso
July 20, 2000