So like your
Father in the face and blood
Terrified and cold
And whispers 
 [bad word] of a cleansing flood
For you

You hide your
Filthy hands from all of us
Still unseen and tied
What water
These killing hands could ever clean
Still [bad word] 

I want to be changed from
The shadow and the tomb
Like [bad word] over us
The tide pulls from the moon

Your mother
The passing of a silver ring
Oversized and cold
This specter
Will walk the halls of every seed
From you