we will break bread eventually
body is given and remembrance is free
to be bound by the blood of one brighter
to be marked scarlet in slurs heavenly
its either guilt or pleasure that leads me forward
i feel quickened in sickness softened by grace
if its all freely given on hill from a tree
what's left of pride with a spear in your side
what wants fire and lime is me
im more what i say than what i am
more dream from the bed where my sins have slept in
i lack will i lack speech i lack style but i believe
i love everything and it's killing me
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