V o i d   S c r i b e

Untitled

Prostrated before your altar
and bearing my whole being to you
I humble myself before you

I am but a worthless liar
I do not deserve your patience
to have my ears graced by your lyre
My life is of no grand salience

I kneel before you now
submitting before you low
you take the truth like a plow
and with it many seeds are sewn