There's a Fight in the Flock:

Betrayed by my own blood,
I grow paler and paler with each
Debilitating blink and breath;
Ever writhing in anguish and mar.

Though my life has been willingly drained for their world,
I've realized too little, too late,
That being bled and dead is no way to live.
Forgive me father, for I have sinned.

Consecration can only drag a man so far
Before the desecration of his being
Is 'beyond repair' and chained with hellfire,
But let their choir sing my requiem!
Let their preacher damn me into eternal suffering!
Let their God disown me as his child!
I've caused so much trouble in their house,
It's a wonder that they've kept me as long as they have!

Please guide me with your wind,
Wrath or otherwise, I crave the feel of sanctity and truth once more.
I don't care that their bible labels me as
Damaged material;
Damned to feel nothing but spite and pain for disagreeing;
Because I know that you have me within the
Cooling and gentle breeze of a sweet and honest autumn.

I will forgive the holy-rollers who call themselves your followers,
For they are just the same as me in this flock.
I can only hope that someone is right about you,
I'd hate for all this hate to be for nothing.