concrete believer
you were born
to be a faith healer
lay your hands
upon my brow
sacred tongues
rattle in your jowl
every silver coin is a testament
to Babylon's second ascent
I slept for all those years
so I could stay awake for this
I washed your feet
in rememberance
of all the hands
that I've kissed
regret has dragged it's claws
across the small of my back
I break my neck
to take a look
at the wreckage that has passed
we laid the bricks
upon which your alter was built
we wove the cloth
upon which your blood
would be spilt
the abundance of your coffer
is the measure of success
we lay our heads down
where the wicked go to rest
tend to your flock
you shepherds of rot
your staff leads us
into the dens of wolves
if this is penance
than what are our sins?
surely this can't be forgiven

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