Church bells knell steadfast and true to the wedding of doubt and calm
Cashing tithes and asks for more to the tune of a pretty psalm
Mommy knelt trying to conjure all the tears a breast could embalm
Lord, I feed under the shadow of my mother's begging palm
.
Decades grow with despair came forth and aided my faith's decline
Harboring an illness in the stillness of a sinner's qualm
Chasing the speed of sound with a needle to my heart's incline
Lord, it's been a privilege to own my mother's begging palm
