She baptized me once with trembling hands,
Now those same hands are clean of me.
Anointed by rules I’ll never understand,
While love was crucified quietly.

She taught me God was always near,
That mercy bloomed in every heart.
But vanished when I drew you near,
Condemned before we could even start.

My vows were not dressed in her gold,
No steeple echoed my sacred day.
But truth was there, bare-faced and bold,
In every honest word I’d say.

She said my soul had lost its way,
That sin had inked my wedding bands.
But if Heaven turns its face away,
Then Hell must hold far gentler hands.

She chose her church above my chair,
Left it empty out of fear and pride.
Her silence louder than any prayer
That ever left her lips in stride.

I am not lost. I am not less.
I built a life from blood and flame.
And if she mourns in Sunday dress,
She mourns a ghost who bears my name.