those who seem too eager to scourge you
claim your crown of thorns
& define for themselves the Laws of Sanctimony
with their silk white piety and garrulousness on the subject of holiness
the self-righteousness comes like a choir of angels
to sing the hymns of your ruin
to chart & catalogue every one of your very human failings
as if they themselves were guardians of an unblemished soul
well, you won't find me casting stones
At least I know I am a sinner, and confess my sins to you openly
& pride is the least amongst these but how quickly you rushed to discard me.
