| Our knees were cracked and broken
|
| Genuflect in dirt and broken glass
|
| Grinds the teeth as black as the demons
|
| Of the cloth that come at night
|
| To rape our wretched flesh at the alter
|
| The ghosts of the charnel house
|
| Were born to deathless guilt
|
| The ghosts of the charnel house
|
| Were born to shameful night
|
| Pale backs are ripe from the lash
|
| Fingers worked to the bone
|
| Scavengers of the cross
|
| Flicker in perdition’s light
|
| Rancid leather and rotten faith
|
| Whelts young skin
|
| Charnel fodder for an unmarked grave
|
| In the house of the lord
|
| The poor mouth speaks
|
| Of begging bowl politics
|
| It’s words cast long shadows
|
| From the doorway of the charnel house
|
| To every ploughed field
|
| And rotten ear of corn
|
| We are born of deathless guilt
|
| And shameful night |