Rats stuck in burning trees,
Poisoned vultures in the air vent.
You still think of me as your good Sheppard,
Even though I’m hell-sent.
With water rot in the drywall and the ceiling,
You’ve covered your heart, your face and your hands,
But you still can’t escape this feeling.
I’m burning, I’m tossing, I’m turning
Can’t get past the insulation in the rafters.
My church is burning, it’s tossing and turning
My soul, my home, my cysts and my wrists
The mould is taking over.
But still you take his perversions
And run with them as if they were a kite.
Yes, still you take his perversions
As an open house, for sale!
And leave everything in sight.
Image by: Martin Sattler