Long and steady,
Our heads will hang heavy,
As we contemplate the next move.

But the real matter,
Has to do with a ladder,
Made with heart strings glowing with love.

The cries of a saint,
Will no longer taint,
The blades in the hands of this con.

They will pierce the only heart,
We have eaten from the start,
And the owner's name is God.

Either this story begins,
Or this story ends,
But it only makes waves if you hear it.