An army of faults
          has laid siege to the vaults
          of the treasure paid for with your most blessed blood
          which is the one continuous flood
          pouring forth in the center of my Eden
          watering each thought-seed in
          glorious gold
But now the enemy has taken hold
          of the gates
          wishing to propagate violence
          on your beloved
And no fence of my imagination
          can hold back lust’s instigation
          and gluttony’s sharp spear
          carves my longing
          from my dear possession of you
And spreads like fear
          taken hold of the sheep
          amongst whom the wolf creeps
          and reaps of the confusion he sowed
But you can bestow knowledge of my foe
          your guidance can break my reliance
          on the false images and the bastard idols
          of this age
And though my deceptive past
          accuses me from the stage of my memory,
          in your forgiveness is a sweet story of release
          from the Pharaoh’s toil
          and the deceased pages of twisted intentions
          which boil my blood like a ravenous sun
          touching my nerves with a fire begun
          from the fuel of losing hope
My God I wish not to merely cope, but to conquer.