Monday, January 19, 2015

The Pastor and The Partaker

It’s time once again
It’s special (but boring
The young ones ignoring
The old ones are snoring)
Before we begin
            This is not your rebirth
            It’s dirt just like the earth
            Make sure that you have worth
Rid yourself of sin
It’s not that essential
            It’s inconsequential
Invoke reverential
Get on with it then

I went to my confession booth and told the priest inside,
“Before I sup I must be stripped of all my haughty pride.”

“Then close your eyes, my son,” he said, “and hold them fast and tight
And think upon the sin that swarms within you day and night.
Make sure you plumb the depth of guilt that’s seeped into your soul
And wallow there, and linger long, and you will be made whole.”

“The guilt, I feel!” I said in pain, “The guilt I need removed!
For I have lingered as you said, but I have not improved”
“Then grip the guilt,” the priest replied, “and crush its wicked head.
The triumph over all your guilt gives access to the bread.”

But O! what sorrow struck my heart, I've heard the words before
The logic of the pendulum; the never ceasing war.
Just as the waves upon the rocks will crash and then retreat
So Guilt, then Pride, beat down my soul, then Guilt and Pride repeat

Then I was called out from my booth and from the priest within
Called from my introspective time to cleanse myself from sin
And once again I've failed to find a way to still the tide
That crushes me beneath the waves of surging Guilt and Pride

So now once more I count myself among the fools and fake
Who eat the bread and drink the cup, unworthy to partake.

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