Let me caress your every sinew
I do not care if you've been used
for many men know the temple of God
but few on holy ground have trod
her birthplace that is creation
yet they treat you with predation
a child that sleeps within your womb
soon your bed will be their tomb
the years of men will surely pass
upon your head I count the grass
they outnumber thee ten fold to one
and yet their bud is still but young
our age is like a moth at night
that travels towards the sacred light
and is extinguished by the flame
Will you remember my name?
your favoured son
Will you forgive the things I've done?
or another knot in the tree become