Fallen From Grace

I stand on top
A rancid river running red,
Dreams swirling 'bout in my head.

The chill of the autumn wind
Drives me back inside,
But takes my mind gently in it's breath.

I am standing face to face
With a little child,
Watching it wither and die.

Innocence falls down
And I feel the night,
Weep tears of blood.

This is my child I think
As I take the bloody pulp in my arms
And wish god could not see me now.

This is where I stand,
Fallen from grace,
Dancing in flames.

By Errol W. Angus

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