Leaning forward, hands awash.
Hands clasped on smoldering sage and thyme.
You would give them everything.
You would give them anything.
On bent knees, crawling back to God.
On bent knees, crawling back.
As the twig is bent, the bough is shaped.
One is many and many are one.
The blood of Abel cries out from the ground.
On bent knees, crawling back to God.
On your bent knees, crawling back.