I'd rather have heaven's bile
than all the love on earth
I'd rather have an angel's severed arm
than all the working hands building paradise
My heart lifts crowds just to keep beating
your questions dulled against my will
tears made in cacophonous rhythms
Matthew would have blushed
I'd rather have a broken halo
than give a stranger hope
I'd rather my wings lost their feathers
than cure a leper
My fragile skin would tear if I shook your hand
My neck is bent with decorations
my appetite is quite voracious
I need marble to steady my grasp
I'd rather wear torn robes
than guide us through our doubt
I'd rather God not notice me
than pray for the wicked