The Parish

I cannot trust because of the sinners who bring shotguns to worship

Show me evidence of an unholy earth that can be saved from its patterns

Before I forgive like a saint

He wanted to start a war because of colour

When the only one that matters in the end is red

Crimson for crimes son

Spilt during birth and sipped during church

It is what remains when engaged or damaged by passion 

Within it the code that binds us all

In love and hate

Like a Burn

What has happened to you already 

Makes you say those things to me

So I can feel trapped in a coffin of shame

and maintain that I never had the good genes

Sometimes failure smells like fear and can linger 

Until the pain fades away like with a burn

Do you say, I am healed or scarred