I'm no longer fit to kneel at your altar. The eyes will confess. Your servant has faltered. And though every mark that I have inflicted seems permanent now, I beg you, forgive them, because I am certain they will fade in time. So clear me a space to fall by my brothers, then color your lamb with stripes that may cover old blood with new blood, and failure with favor. But thicken your cuts and place them with care, because I am certain they will fade in time.
|
|
-----------------
|
Kneel
|
| The Silent Type |
