Sad reflections from donated dreams. Charity's fallen embers. Like a high UV index they burn right into your skin. Freckling your thoughts with a bit of compromise.
Close your eyes to the possibility inertia has made itself at home. You'll feel it, feel it right to the bone. But you crossed that bridge long ago. In the time of tranquil misgivings. You gave consent to sin by offering up your sons and daughters. Drowning them in the shallow end of dissipated water.
Sing hymns all you like. Piety is not for sale. And the angel light that hits the wall is not in the shape of Mary. Evil always figures into these things. Don't you know? Heat rises. Blood falls.
So burn your prayers on a stick. Roast them in the campfire. You'll never turn to God until you lie dying. Broken and heaving. Asking for forgiveness. Which a man of cloth will grant. Such a charmed life to leave.
Only it's a cheat. A spoonful of circumvention. Making you feel warm and clever as you bleed out. Regrettably, your vacuous heart sailed off on the Greta Garbo and mortgaged your future for such marquee. Banking on the here and now. From this there can be no redemption.