Saint John

With Rending of Garment and Great Gnashing of Teeth,
Tell me Saint John, how your God has forsaken you -
He never returns your calls
And when he sees you out at the club, catch his gaze and he quickly turns away
Despair is like manna from heaven to you
A sacrament, a holy communion

How long, oh lord, shall the wicked triumph?
You cry out from the Altar
So blind you are
I could weep like the Dolorosa, cradle you like the Pieta
I could cut a vein and stand before you like Christ torn open,
My hands bleeding rays of grace as a balm for your wounds.

But nothing can taint your purity
And no one can stop your Martyrdom
And eyes so sore they weep blood can only see red
Ignite your soul on the pyre of your self righteous fury
Leaving me only relics
Dry bones and cold ashes


2001