Red scratchy fabric lining the confessional
Imprinted a checkerboard into my knees;
My spine stacked upright,
Leading to heaven, or down into hell;
Guilt or shame pulling my head down;
Tears would’ve fallen on my baby cheeks
If the church hadn’t been as cold as hell was hot;

Things that I feel guilty for:

lobby
i step onto the elevator
and push for floor 12
a woman in a black dress rushes in and asks for 13
she has red-hair and her perfume smells nice
we wait in silence for the doors to close and begin our ascent

Whistle a tune by the fire with me friend
There's whole worlds out there,
but right now you're on this one...
So take it in

Freedom is only a tool,
Soon, you'll see that.
Timber giants stand among us here,
They cannot walk, but their spirits are reinless