Empire! Empire! Everything Rests On Your Small Shoulders
i remember when you thought you found god
painted a cross on your forehead
and wandered around my backyard like a saint
or a shepherd tending to his flock
the irony was not lost on me
and for all your newfound love
you still seemed like a bastard
then, you carried on like all the world was yours
to pity and to teach and comfort
(as if because, somehow, you forgave yourself,
that all your terrible deeds have been undone)
