If a cross marks the spot,
Then there be no blemish upon my skin.
No clasping of hands can mend a heart,
No crowding for mass, no family dinners
In which we give thanks to - ah,
Yes, call me a sinner, or what's better,
Call me nothing at all.
I'd rather commit a mortal sin, Father,
And throw a clean slate in the ember
Than step on the crack of the concrete.
Sir, or friend:
Cheers to you,
But I have my own back!
Fancy that. I'm a godsend.