Bless me father,
I might be wrong about this:
all the angels bound to pins,
salvation sewn in scapulars.
I am not worthy to receive him:
your chalices of sweet red blood,
his body, die-cut flat and round.
Say the word and I shall be healed.
Sit, kneel, stand, repeat. Alleluia.
I say, may the spirit be with you.
Take my song and sign of the cross,
and my heart raised to dusty beams.
Go in peace. I sing, alleluia!
I don’t want to go to hell.
May the spirit be with me.
I don’t want to die alone.
G W Sisk