Polish the brass, Peggy.
Look at the leaf on Mary’s dress.
She was lovesick when he left her.
Cut your hair, Peggy.
Bury the remnants of the past.
Swallow the china
we both ate from.

Oh lord, oh lord,
if my eyes could speak––
Would you wash your
holy water over me?

Put down the doll, Peggy.
I know I treated you with less than respect.
The weasel paid me
to let him love you.
Slacken your tongue
up to the time when Jesus spoke
words so willful,
they made you love me.

Shall we go,
leaving the gleaming brass behind
the fire burning,
the winter turning?
Without clothes,
shall we collapse into Mary’s dress?
The leaves are still wet
from Pilate’s bloodshed.

“Yes, yes, yes I will go, love,
but not with you.
your cruelty calls you
to the lion’s table.
And I have gone
into his belly and back again.
You now, you love.
You protect you.”

Is this your voice,
Leading me into the devil’s hands?
Is this your wisdom,
to leave me naked?
Well, lift your voice,
so that the hounds of heaven may hear!
My soul is dangling
from your answer.

Lamb of God,
your fingertips are the mother of pearl.
Your heart is the mountain
I break my hands on.
Lamb of God,
you take away the sins of the world.
have mercy on me
have mercy on me
have mercy on me
have mercy on me