Since the garden, love amongst humans has never been pure
As far from holy perfection as they themselves are
It is sweat and sex and skin and blood
And sinful, often
But the blasphemy comes quickly in the presence of the sword:
Something about the sin isn't––
Humans warp the love of God with their desire
Filthy gazes dirty hands beer-smelling sticky mouth
He bites his lip like the whore of Babylon and––
True beauty is veiled like an orchard behind a wall
Fruit and their fragrances hidden away
And this harvest is not for me,
Yet I have climbed the ladder
This harvest is not for me,
Yet the fruit is within my reach