Occasionally your laughter seems blindingly absurd

We’re all fixed onto our own crucifixes now;

Such abhorrent lack of discipline has earned you three lashes

Stop shaking with your lips pressed against the cup

We’re all the same you whisper, we’re all the same

And “Christ forgive them, they know not what they do”

(do you?)

Even the dirt under your fingernails marks His love, you say

And I do not have the strength to push your hands away