Kept warm by the light of the lantern Lost sight of everything tonight My presence blackens their pattern A pock in the healthy and calm Their scorn behind your back My promise would put them down No trace of reverence left Immemorial fire in their eyes I would perish at the given signal At the slightest touch from my soul Tainted prophet in flesh For all the plagued and lost Dripping sin Decision in stalemate Dare to feel death at hand Surprised me with its voice Through the forest came the morn Across the leafy pathway Their deeds smeared in blood For all to behold The council of the cross Must have sensed my coming The pest through the air With despise for squalor Lashing out at the poor I turned away my eyes In pallor escape from the end Fading time to leave from here And less to fulfill my task She would be safe and firm Nothing of this is in vain Taken away from stifling grace And saved from the past
pock, leafy, pallor, squalor, stalemate