A. W. Nutter
Fog from my breath
Suspended in the air
Will I meet my death
Deep, in the Devils lair
Hands trembling in fear
Grasping the silver cross
Wiping away, foolish tears
Just retribution for my loss
Stepping across the threshold
Down a path with no return
My final chapter being told
Cast into the fire to burn
Sanctuary is quiet and vacant
I stand before Mother Mary
Her eyes passing judgement
This sin I’m willing to carry
Swinging open the office door
Fear, shadows the pastors face
Understanding what was in store
From a child he use to embrace
A false prophet with a black soul
Falls prey to my homemade knife
Piercing his heart makes me whole
A sharpened cross ends his life
Vision ending, as I awaken
Warm blood adorns my fingers
Seeing the knife leaves me shaken
Cutting, will never bring me closure
