The faceless thieve

They sit in the church and cry like a child,

Remembering all the memories of when she smiled, 

I sat and looked around all the while thinking...

'Oh geez, is this what it's like in the wild?'

He sits in the church and cries like a mother,

and I hear the cries of ever after,

Every mother and every father...

Considering what it might be like to never love 'er.

She sits in the church and cries like a martyr,
Wondering if all of this will matter ever after,
All these details of who was slain,
It makes me wonder... 'Was this all done in vein?'

I sat at the altar and considered my sins, yet I'm left wondering where to begin...
When all is forgotten where will they go?
When we have fallen, will they reap what we have painfully sowed?

I allow the people to consider these notions,
Before presenting them with similar commotions.

What might you leave on this earth, for your child to receive?
Of what will they remind us, while death begins to thieve?