Priest, in a sky lit room, ink in his blood, what can he do, what can he do? Suprise gift of a stolen kiss, taken from an empty room, what can i do, what can i do? Selfless soul sacrafice, god owns all you knew, taken from a heartless bitch, i give it back to you, for you. Show me the spiders nest, the spiders nest of youth, buy me a beer, this place has lost its truth. Priest in a sky lit room, ink in his blood, what can you do, well what can you do?
My interpretation of this is acceptance and forgiveness. (I rarely interpret poems as the writers intended.) But I liked the way it flowed while I ingested the images and meanings. The repetition worked very well, made it feel like a chant. Beautiful poem, I thought.
"Priest in a sky lit room, ink in his blood, what can you do, what can you do?" I like that... Very nice.
