Through the trees, there’s a burning church beside a lake of ice – thawing with the heat. The flames lick the night – as I’m drawn closer, I start to hear a priest going down with his ship.
“Please lord, spare me. Please lord, prepare me. I’ve been a servant all my life – slept lonely every night, just to serve you – now in my hour of need, you leave me; doubting your compassion on my deathbed.”
Then he’s silent – I’m thankful he’s silent. Then the flames fade, then the night draws in. Then I kneel by the lake, and wash my hands of this mess.