Church bells knell steadfast and true to the wedding of doubt and calm

Cashing tithes and asks for more to the tune of a pretty psalm

Mommy knelt trying to conjure all the tears a breast could embalm

Lord, I feed under the shadow of my mother's begging palm

.

Decades grow with despair came forth and aided my faith's decline

Harboring an illness in the stillness of a sinner's qualm

Chasing the speed of sound with a needle to my heart's incline

Lord, it's been a privilege to own my mother's begging palm