If you feed it it will grow
as tall as corn stalk hedge or row
You’ll find true sorrow if you do
You’ll curse your days before your through
If you expound this truth so great
Sorrows worse for you await
you’ll find your likeness carved in stone
A self for eons you’ll atone
You told them practice to just be
From this arose The sense of me
From cross and tree you looked around
Just like us made from ground
But they dipped a pen in your blood
And wrote away your love for mud
Its not me that writes this song
If illusions have names then something is wrong
Merriest of CRIMBOS TO ALL