Gasoline

Skillet's "Gasoline" opens with a stark, almost confrontational image: a heart laid out on a table during a face-to-face encounter with God, who asks what should be done with it. The narrator's first instinct is self-protection — a padlocked box, a fear of being grabbed too hard, smashed, or thrown down, and a simple desire to just live a happy life without being hurt. That fear gets answered by a demand for total consumption: soak the heart in gasoline, strike a match, and let the fire take over, along with the pride that keeps the narrator guarded. The chorus repeats this surrender as a trade — all of God, none of the self. A later verse reframes the imagery entirely, revealing that the heart already marked by gasoline belongs to a slave committed for life, and that anyone reaching for it must go through a "real big God." The closing scene mirrors the opening, but now the heart on the table sits beside the bloody remains of a man's heart, and God's answer is simply that it's already done — that heart was Jesus. The song turns a violent metaphor into an argument for letting go of self-preservation and letting grace do the burning.