"What is it you stand for?"
My hand upon stacked pages
Under an oath inscribed in
A heart not my own.
Before decrepit judge and jury,
So pure on the outside,
Only here can I see what they really are.
Their words spill out before me,
And my soul sinks like a thousand shipwrecks.
You may not speak against them.
You have no mouth in this court room.
Stray from their laws and surely you will be punished.
What is it I stand for?
I stand for those who could not.
I plead for understanding.
I can hear them shouting:
"Stand down, blasphemer!"
I stand accused, place the blindfold.
The bullets of self righteousness will never miss.
My body opened and spilling gore,
I paint a portrait of retribution onto your soil.
What a glorious example the Church has made of me.
