and he tried to take your soul, but didn't realise you keep it in a different hole...

slow dancing and sunday miracles:

i thought you were a saint.
you didn't care
that i was unable to scrub
the dirt from my feet.
"let's dance again. this time slow," you'd say.

i confessed all my sins
and how i lied to my mother.
you said it was all false, anyway.
you claimed palms could heal
and artifacts could be forgotten,
but only saints had the power.

but, we all claim
saints were once sinners
and i knew your promises were as tainted
as the holy water.
i can't say i cared much, though.
i'll worship you all the same.