there's a certain ice
that runs through my veins
where darkness is a wallow
of remembrance.
chastise holy consecration!
God! Can't you see
that I cannot speak your tongue
for you took the child
out of me?
certainly when saints
gather 'round the abbey,
they hold a circle of thorns
and cry for me,
with understanding.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 7:34 AM UTC
there's a certain ice
that runs through my veins
where darkness is a wallow
of remembrance.
chastise holy consecration!
God! Can't you see
that I cannot speak your tongue
for you took the child
out of me?
certainly when saints
gather 'round the abbey,
they hold a circle of thorns
and cry for me,
with understanding.