Hands of stone close the door. Eyes of stone watch without sight. I must be stone - I feel nothing. Saint of hope and kindness, raise your head. Who among us will recall that you are human, in neither form nor power like a god? I build a monument in your name to obscure my weakness, then search for hope in vain from its highest point. The sun here is cruel and revealing. Be kind now - turn away from my scars. The place where I was born is filled with strangers. I've become a slave in its deepest room. Maybe if I hide for long enough, I can die right here. I should lock myself behind this door, and press the gun into my waiting mouth, break the teeth, burn the tongue, rip the skin, shatter bone, spill the blood out, never find the heart. How could you remain in silence, and cast your eyes down? How could you remain in silence? I have found the sacred truth: you shine like heaven, but you're scum. Saint of what's dead and gone, you're killing us all with your disease. This is not a dance of celebration, but something poor men do in hungry years. I had everything once, and then I lost it. I wish I was dead, because my body's given up.