and then the devil said, "when you were broken I took you in. gave you a purpose, a family, a new home." his teeth clenched, his veins swelled. I'm oaken-hearted for a moment but my nerve slips. "we all have someone we try to protect. if that was your boy on the altar, you think a father wants to take that risk?" 

so we crept up in the dirt just like a rat or a thief, falling in upon the preacher like a sudden disease. spilling blood and fear and fire with reluctance and ease, we [bad word] him up outside the Blackwood to avoid the police. we fought for my soul. 

curse that weakness and desperate men, tempted often and easily. it's a shame you were lost, my son, led astray so easily. 

our hands weren't meant for this, 
such dark and bitter work. 
they're for digging in the earth, 
planting seeds, 
working with wood, 
or fashioning bricks. 
mending broken tools, 
tending to the sick, 
but not this. 

it's not God's mercy that keeps my son alive. it ain't your pity that keeps him safe at night. it's my wrath and my fury that keeps him safe from harm. 

how can that be wrong?