Lance

Lance's tongue is sick

so the fish sing

to mock his blathering

the swish of his strainer

the strike of his chisel

fleshed fish, dried fish

nudge the pressure crack

fold a mausoleum

on his arthritic back

The congregation hovers

as his old god rests

Lord let the bell ring

the ministry is ill

it's the lustre of the cross

lord let the bell ring

knaves burn aisles burn

snow melts into moss

Warped christ chipped christ

let their income wane

counterfeit collection plates

cast and catch the same

wind burn ice burn,

drop his line to hell

the ministry is ill,

the ministry's unwell

a congregation wonders

as his long reach numbs

Lord let the bell ring

the ministry is ill

the lustre of the cross

Lord let the bell ring

knaves burn aisles burn

snow melts into moss