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The Wrote & The Writ |
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They're taking pictures of the man from God |
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I hope his cassock's clean |
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The burden of being our holy fellas |
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Your halo'd better gleam, better gleam |
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What of all those wayward priests? |
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The ones who like to drink |
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Do you suppose they'd swap their blood for wine |
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Like you swapped yours for ink, for ink |
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You wrote me, oh so many letters |
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And all of them seemed true |
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Promises look good on paper |
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Especially from you, from you |
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The weight of all those willing words |
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I carried all alone |
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You wouldn't put your pen to bed |
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When we hadn't found our own, our own |
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Your sentences rose high at night |
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And circled round my head |
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The circle's since been broken |
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Like the priest before me is breaking bread |
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I'm being asked to drink the blood of Christ |
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And soon I'll eat his flesh |
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I'm alone again before the altar |
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Shedding all my old regrets |
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The last of which I'll tell you now |
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As it flies down the sink |
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I never knew a part of you |
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You didn't set in ink, in ink |
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The letters that you left behind |
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No longer shall I read |
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Your blood's between the pages |
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And I can't stand to see you bleed |
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And I'll soon forget what was never there |
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Your words are ash and dust |
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All that's left is the song I've sung |
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The breath I've taken and the one I must |
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If you're born with a love for the wrote and the writ |
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People of letters your warning stands clear |
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Pay heed to your heart and not to your wit |
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Don't say in a letter what you can't in my ear |
