Today was my day off from playing piano in church so I took to writing some poems through the service instead. In the old days, doing anything other than listening with a Sunday-smile plastered over your face would have been frowned upon while someone was speaking. However, now that we have artists painting away at the front and pint-sized Jedi Knights leaping about in the worship time, I'm not too bothered about scribbling a few verses...
I really wanted to write something called Who Makes Tea from a Lukewarm Urn?... but I decided against it. Far too controversial.
The Champion
Born into a world of pain
Through stormy seas and lightning rain
So far from Heaven's golden throne
A stranger to the dark, unknown
The Champion, he stands assured
Though by the earth despised, ignored
He grips the wood with searing love
While thundrous rolls the wrath above
His heart aflame, his eyes of fire
The Champion is lifted higher
For somewhere slips the thorny crown
As hate looks up and love looks down
Evil stirs with rampant glee
Salacious twisted victory
The Champion is finished, done
The thunder claps, the battle won
The thunder claps, the battle won
The Champion cries, 'It. is. done.'
As far away in priestly view
The temple veil is torn in two
The ripping, tearing, awful sound
Shakes up the earth and blood-soaked ground
And far away through time they come:
The way is made for champions
Born into a world of pain
The champions are born to reign
To raise the earth from stormstruck night
To walk the world as salt and light
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