Tirelessly we toil relentlessly
each life held by the hands of grace
is touched in a way of compassion
even after being ravaged
by the cruelty of life and unwatchfulness of angels.
But the blood of mercy is never still
and she's saving me.
The aching of missing that one star shaped heart
Is dulled and more comforting thoughts
of snap dragons and old iron embrace me.
I believe in my private goddess
and am prepared for the inferno
I the cynic with wings and walls in place
Honor glows around the virtuous sacred heart
and her body keeps me warm.
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