 Whispering the back of my head sounds a little like this. They've all gone astray. They are all like perverse. There's no one who does good. No, not one. I see, I feel their faults. I watch the news, I see the hate, the violence, the division. I know these faults because I know my own all too well. And the darkness and the doubt. I know the cry, there is no God.