The Tide Pulls From The Moon

So like your
Father in the face and blood
Terrified and cold
And whispers
The coming of a cleansing flood
For you

You hide your
Filthy hands from all of us
Still unseen and tied
What water
These killing hands could ever clean
Still you run

I want to be changed from
The shadow and the tomb
Like water rushing over us
The tide pulls from the moon

Your mother
The passing of a silver ring
Oversized and cold
This specter
Will walk the halls of every seed
From you