He sat there, rocking from side to side,
And told the priest his sins.
Countenance furrowed, interspersed
With bashful, nervous grins.
Eight year old boy
Leaving out his soul
To hang.
Before the almighty
Creator of the whole
Shebang.
It should’ve been the other way around.
God’s treading on very dangerous ground.
And told the priest his sins.
Countenance furrowed, interspersed
With bashful, nervous grins.
Eight year old boy
Leaving out his soul
To hang.
Before the almighty
Creator of the whole
Shebang.
It should’ve been the other way around.
God’s treading on very dangerous ground.
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