Theoreticalsius; No Rhyme Or Reason.

Unconcerned about your dieting habits.
Lifejackets made of tissue paper,
and kissed for a little luck.
Wide-open ranges kept tidy for the filthy,
Holding onto a key to a lock you'll someday open.
Rest assured, you'll be forgiven.
Every hour is another stepping stone to your end.
Pray to God, you pray too much.
You hold onto a hand that you never once believed in.
Your foundation is a little unstable at best.
When will you learn that God does not revolve around you?
Plagues keep pestilence at bay,
claiming the pure of heart to suffice for the living dead.
I have no hope for you.
You'll be catching up with a bitter end.