Jesus And Tori

The Number Twelve Looks Like You

The soiled ground for the sacrifice

dispelled crippling, faulty, holyland

i am your martyr, your stigmata..



The tears turn to blood beneath my eyes..

my body listens..as you whisper

my fingers bend.



As im nailed your cross

the splinters etch..hearts in my back

i denounce this crucifixion, i demand another sacrifice.



A cast shadow over this narrow hill

pulling my fingers from these nails from these..

there will be no use for a second coming.