Responsorial in minor chord inverted

You have been waiting for my confession,

This dear mortal sin of my transgression

Against you. I’ll not keep you from your hunger satiated.

My sacrifice you’ve anticipated.

I am the reason your piano is flat and out of tune.

I prayed for silence, for my harmonious theft opportune.

I caused the violin strings to lie still.

I am the weakening in your aging voice’s strength and will.

You can blame me for the mold on the wall,

You can purge me from your heart’s withdrawal.

Let free the cracked and chained ceramic angels on your mantle.

All the rusted picture frames will crash in this, my dismantle.

I am the thick dust on your evening clothes,

For I am the closed and locked door; the death of your friendships’ oaths.

I’m your persecutor, the cross you bear.

I’m the tempest fair.

I drove the crooked scalpel into my chest.

I learned to sew the scar; it was too young a test.

I am a thief, dear mother, who robbed you of your fame, your fantasy’s fight.

I’m your restless sleep; I killed your dreams in the night.

I restrained you from mounted sermons; you would have saved the souls of masses.

But cursed are my deaf ears and my lame lips. I am your dead Lazarus.

So you trapped me in the tomb and deigned to damn me.

In the dark, my hands brushed sharpened stone knives and my eyes were breathless to see.

You crushed my lungs and blamed it on me, the possessed.

You tried to throw the devil into my obsessed

Thoughts consumed. You spun me into your dancing black abyss, and for a time

Locked in your anxious fears, I tried not to hurt you in the hell of my mime.

I’ve slain the doll of me and cut your string of words.

I have nothing left but me, and across my back the memory of swords.

In pale dawn, there is a me I do not know.

Seeds you failed to sow.

The chill of the memory of your rain,

Is only the rising warmth of my morning dew.