A Pilgrim's Tale

The pilgrim shakes off the snow from his hair
He shakes off the beauty from yours
He guides you into the wasteland
To stones where all pilgrims go

The pilgrim walks off the most treaded here path
Threads sorrow right through your disguise
A wilderness painted with marrow
Your mercy's where pilgrims find lie

The obvious lie insufficient
Pranks the spectacle within
It’s where all the pilgrims find curtains
And then all they find be your sins

The pilgrim walks proud through the desert
He chooses this place as his own
The caravan stopped at the sea's hurried end
But waters kept flowing down Rhone

To madness all pilgrims must go

Your water still turns into wine
But water flows at his command
The pilgrim jumps forth from your sickness
His ashes remain where you stand

Your sacredness stays where it was
Pure lightlessness fades with the frost
A wilderness painted of sorrow
A world that's composed of his ghost