"Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned."
I whisper to the empty halls by holy candle's light.
The stones of the church are cold on my bare knees,
like my bare heart, bared before you: My brother. My knight.
My Lord to Shepard me in the darkness. "Guide me from the night..
Hallowed be thy name, forgive me my transgressions in your sight."
I whisper again, and beg for my trespasses retribution or salvation;
I've stopped caring which came my way long ago, though I'm contrite.

"You see... Lord... I've failed in many ways. I'm not the brother or son
that I need to be. I've lost my path, if not my faith, and my only consolation
now are my tears, my cigarettes, and my shattered heart's remaining love.
Forgive me for the harm I've done, though I know my prayers are not enough.
I know I don't deserve it, but by grace of God above,
I hope to be a better man, instead of this drawn out sin my life's become..."

And by the altar, I cry.
And my bare knees and bared heart are by this time cold,
frozen by uncaring flagstones, and by your love that you withhold.
Sinners go to Hell below, that's what Sister Mary told
me when I was young and full of light,
and innocent and oh so bold,
and when in my heart I didn't have so much fright,
and such a raging fire that burns so cold,
in sadness and felicity from the grasp of the Devil in my soul.

But for all my faith, and for all your love,
I'm still going to rage
and spit
and claw
and fight,
even when I know that my side's not near in the right,
and even when my heart is stained and uncontrolled,
So I kiss the cross and wish my hopes for a better life goodnight.
"Thanks for listening, Jesus." I whisper, but in my sinner's heart so cold,
I wonder... Can he hear me? Or am I, as I feel it now, alone?