Perhaps he might teach my heart to speak
I have no tears to spill
But this unsettling
Given to deficient omniscient beings
How is it carried?
I walk through pews
To get to him
To explain that these shoes do not fit
I hear no voice
All that echoes is nothingness
My ears are tingled by a whisper "Crowns are crucifix"
Who makes crowns out of crosses?
The back does not fit
Yet each one has a peculiar one
Which you must carry to Golgotha
Before the morning rises
Woe betide you
If the cross kiss not the sun
This unsettling eats deep like worms
But according to the testament of this unknown scroll, we must work