We momentarily sin and create a black mark on our sleeve,

Caught in contrast to the halo hovering ten feet above our head,

The scenes of lust taken straight from the movie screen,

Shake the cover of the golden book that’s now covered in dust.

Motions pass under the bridge as the critics criticise,

We cover the song that the world taught us to sing,

The stolen chords wrap around our neck,

Choking ripened fruits as they are brought into the light.

The bride has bloodstains on her wedding dress,

Blood from the old wounds and the new,

Never recovered and borrowed by hate,

To cause God’s hand to turn blue in the cold.

We read Acts and fall asleep,

With hands together, whilst on our knees,

The more equal among us look for revivals among the revelations,

Insincerity stares back from the mirror of truth.