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Matt Duke
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The Father, The Son, and the Harlot's Ghost
Under this tree
Far away from this church and state is just you and me
There's no need to watch our backs
We'll just simply be
Kiss me honey sweetly with our eyes closed
Words like a knife
Cut my father's throat and he is seething in spite
Threaten my poor mother so she kneels every night
To a prized god divided in the fight
O' sweet thing
Bombs away!
And I'll say
To you I leave a pox upon this awful place
And for you I bleed
So string up my girl
Deviant and faithless and a bane to your world
Malintent with ignorance it's so absurd
Worthless and you're worth it all the same
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Starve in my cell
Man is bound in shackles between heaven and hell
Whether it's worth dying for is too soon to tell
Bloody mouthed and screaning out her name
There was nothing left
When you bred contempt in a shit town
Turning your rats into killers
So far gone
Holy Father, I bit my tongue
But Your good word's turning Your saints into sinners
So far gone
Under this tree
We grew roots and branches kept a hold of our leaves
They will turn through seasons -
And they'll fall to the feet
Of the children that will come after us
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