Lights out
You start to leave
I'll grip you like rosary beads
Dent the pews as I bruise my knees
You are the worst kind of liar
A prophet with false hope
You offered me a stool
When you knew I had rope
My voicemail is not your confession booth
There is no contrition in the way your lips move
Where is the penance if none of it is true?
What I would give to be a saint like you
Blessed are we
The tortured
The dammed
The sinners
That feeds
That bleeds
That takes more than gives
A sign of the cross on your pretty blue lips
God forgive my naivety
A lack of sleep makes you look holy
Poison your thoughts as you pray for me
A martyr in a crusade of misery
A martyr in a crusade of misery
A martyr in a crusade of misery
A martyr in a crusade of