I am not your sacrificial lamb
So that civil peace, kept by civil hands
May be upheld, not for the sake of justice served,
But as civil appearance – mild-mannered at best– demands
I am not your confessional booth
You catholic raised, nun-knuckle-rapped apostate
Blaspheme and scream against my deadened eyes
I will not rise to be your savior, the progenitor of your estate
What will you, have you, shall you remember
Only moments in recollections’ distorted reflection
Oh, how the young babe has grown
I am your grandfather's grandchild, his struggles too are mine; are one
Abandon all pretense, ye who enter here
Near and dear to my heart, have I forsaken thee
As you have forgotten, abandoned what present lay before you
An illusion is all you shall ever seem to see
Must you seek the obedience of calm perceptions
Father, what holy spirit has possessed you in past
Linger no longer for this son, no longer distraught, instructed or taught
Childhood’s innocence is not a thing built well to last