for the saint needs to bleed

these crusted wings of barren faith

held upon a crumbling stick

with weathered shrouds of withered hope

to hide this face of shame

back bent with unseen burden

scrape your feet upon these rocks

bloodied footsteps

paths taken

frought with hope

to be mistaken

lust for dreams

a chance for hope

barren now with dusted tears

drink of my blood to quench your fears

partake my flesh to ease your soul

pray again

you feel it grow

till once again

you feel whole