Broken Worship (March 98)

I walk the streets
Confused as to what I should be doing
I look around at all the people
Pushing and smiling
Towards their sense of purpose
While on the inside
I stand on the edge of brokeness and tears
wanting to cry in the gutter
And break my vase of nard over your feet
But in the peoples eyes
I sense the need to put my fingers in the cracks
And force a broad grin
Convincing my reflection
That I know what kind of man I am