My God, my God,
Why have you forsaken me?
Where are the wings to set me free?
I am not the man that we all see.
I sped toward death,
With reckless speed.
Constant pain and exile,
Fertilize the undesirable weed.
There is no future,
That requires rehearsal.
There is no forgiveness,
No grounds for reversal.
So the truth is a lie,
The great historian wrote.
And my benediction,
Evokes no footnote.
And so this temple,
Has slowly become,
A broken down, shabby,
Neglected, overgrown slum.
I plead for redemption,
One righteous flight,
Your kingdom come,
Please take me to the light.
Tell me, sweet lord, what is’t that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,
And start so often when thou sit’st alone?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks,
And given my treasures and my rights of thee
To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy?
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