old man, part 3

old man, are you troubled so hard, where is that god
you swear by? i can taste your mutters, know their
bitter flavors, how can you find some comforts from

the stones of this old church? you never were a
righteous man, where do you pay for this redemption
that griefs your wasted face, where do you scatter

coins to buy a token for the day, why do you choose
the darkness of this ill-suited place? old man, make
your confessions, close yourself and weep, and whisper.

your ghosts, they don't tread lightly, have got you
captured in a binding that won't be soon unloosed
i have no prayers to make for you, where the sun

has lost its welcome, old man, are you troubled so
hard? sitting here with these latin heresies, washing
down your watered wine, waiting for the raucous bells.

come, let's walk somewhere, chants are for the sailor
lads, drinking beers and whiskey, chants are for our
memories, to gentle paths we stray, for old men

making merry, for old men, on their way