Is the God that I worship like an eight ball that says yes, maybe, or no'
Or like a ouija board that points the direction to go'

Is the God that I worship like an eight ball that says yes, maybe, or no'
Or like a ouija board that points the direction to go'

A family looks on, forlorn and sad,
The outcome will determine - thankful or mad'
Temperature soars to 107, passing hands not yet ready for Heaven,
He sees himself floating somewhere overhead,
A haunting apparition high above his bed.

It's me, I think...but I seem to resemble the soul of a ghoul.

The hand trembler walks out, not a word did he say,
Is this all for real, though he failed today'
The family has scorned him; hand trembler denied,
The life of their son snuffed out as they cried,
You left us in agony, your power is fake.

Though we trusted in you, this answer we'll not take.

Do you have the faith to let God be God' - That is the question,
Not a question of outcome, but a question of trust, for he is truly God and we are but dust.

Is the God that I worship like an eight ball that says yes, maybe, or no'
Or a ouija board that points the direction to go'

There are things in this life we can never explain,
On the wicked and righteous come sunshine and rain,
I am not God, though at times I have tried,
"You don't need him," the deceiver has lied.