A pilgrim, a palmer, the Beggar, unclean,
These are the shades we shall refer,
Our overbears burdened, a mind incomplete,
We are the Ones who They defer,
These arms on theirs, all threat unforeseen,
Blood to be free, blood to be free,
Banners, stained crimson and liberty deemed,
We are the Ones who They defer.
Oh, how the glory, so austere and charming.
It strikes, this pounding in my head,
If I've been deemed a free man,
Why does this torment never end?
There lies an open wound in heart and in crown,
These scars, only mind to bare, the beat of that eternal sound.
For I've been woken by the words of the dead,
Among those whispers, a truth is what I heard,
My cancer, afflicting sense and thinking
Silver and gold is Our Lords body,
Oh majesty, oh majesty,
Hoarding in hunger and wearing the wreath,
Blood to appease, blood to appease,
Gaze upon copper fingers keeling,
With palms faced toward the ceiling,
Silver and gold.