Superstition

I walk out to the edge of the lake Eyes following the water As it washes my convictions away He stops me when I'm starting to pray He says, intuition is awakening suspicion He says, my tradition is the art of superstition I wake up in the light of the fire Eyes burning like the ashes In submission to the heat of desire He tells me not to preach to the choir He says, his condition is a slow decomposition He says, my religion is the practice of Sedition (He says) (He says) Intuition is awakening suspicion (He says) My tradition is the art of superstition This condition is a slow decomposition (He says) My religion is the practice of sedition