Tithe

	spending the best years of a childhood horizontal on the floorlike a bobsled minus the teamwork and the televised supportand nothing sounds appealingsomeone retired on a percentage of the tithe that paved these roadsthey lead to nowhere but they're still gridlocked, made of
	Solomon's pure goldbeneath the door frame waiting for earthquakes after the rapture comes and goesthe saints went marching, the trumpets salving, the chosen ones are phoning a goaland nothing sounds appealing