This could offend people?

I once believed
All it would take
Was a good attitude
And a piece of cake
To share with my friends
When we get up to heaven
But I was sadly
And terribly mistaken

I found it took fear
And greed and lust
Hiding secrets in the corner
Pretending to be just
Talking more than acting
Less factual, more matter-of-factly.
Standing straight in line,
Saying thank you, feeling fine.

I learned it wasn’t in the books
The looks, the songs, the hymns, the cooks
No it was only in my heart,
Where Jesus didn’t lurk, just art.
It was all me, myself, and I
And will continue until I die.
For only I contain the power
It takes to eliminate the sour
Taste in your mouth from all the years
Those people told you how to steer.

I bought a crystal singing bowl
To help me with my angry growl
Instead my children bang the gong
Urging me to sing along
Our throat chakras clear, whatever that means
They did it themselves, the bowl was a sheen,
Although powerful, beautiful, molded with care,
The bowl has no answer, it’s all inside there,
Yeah, you, I’m talking about you, nobody else around,
Don’t sell yourself short, you’ve made your own sound.
You have the power, the hunger, the thirst,
Use it to pull someone else out the dirt,
Instead of pushing them down the tube
With “need tos,” “have tos,” “shoulds,” and “coulds.”
Think about the hooves waiting to stomp in your shoes
They’re dancing so hard they’ll beat you out of your blues.

If you’re cold, dreary, weary, or doomed.
God will not give you his coat to stay warm,
He’ll only show you what you did wrong,
And how if you follow him you are absolved of your song.
But your song is what makes you who you are,
Don’t lose or ignore it, understand all its scars,
It’s bruised, black, and blue, but it sings just the same,
Remember there are no instructions for this game.

That big-belted preacher will tell you it’s wrong,
Will force your hand to the collection plate from the bong.
So choose where to cultivate your energy and must,
Sometimes the ones dressed nice have the most rust
Underneath their facades, ask the right questions
They’ll stumble and stutter, for they forgot to fudge them.

I am no god, no genius, no sage,
But I do know time slips fast with age,
The bubbles and bracelets that sparked your eyes
Now a lengthy bill, you assess the size.
Take the time to breathe in the air,
It’ll never deceive you or tell you to care
About something else they deem as number one
Get out of the tangle of being a drone.

You can buy a fancy bowl, you can sing to the skies,
At the end of the day we are all just guys
Or gals, or theys, or in-betweens,
We were all born with useless-ish spleens
That give out with age, no matter what
You might as well spend time on what tickles your butt.