Meaningless Meaning

Oh Jesus of Suburbia,

What is God but a protector of the freak?

My tear-stained prophet, handholder of the meek.

For does not he live in the eyes of the weak?

Those chosen spirits who on shine through the bleak?

When shall we climb that highest peak?

How to get hit and turn the other cheek?

Though the wicked twist you when they speak,

Will their come a time when they'll nought reek?

When will their evil refuse to sneak?

Does the devil attack in silence or shriek?

All these answers I don't seek.

I follow your truth, the sacred, oblique.