They're taking pictures of the man from GodnI hope his cassock's cleannThe burden of being our holy fellasnYour halo'd better gleam, better gleamnnWhat of all those wayward priests?nThe ones who like to drinknDo you suppose they'd swap their blood for winenLike you swapped yours for ink, for inknnYou wrote me oh so many lettersnAnd all of them seemed truenPromises look good on papernEspecially from you, from younnThe weight of all those willing wordsnI carried all alonenYou wouldn't put your pen to bednWhen we hadn't found our own, our ownnnYour sentences rose high at nightnAnd circled round my headnThe circle's since been brokennLike the priest before me is breaking breadnnI'm being asked to drink the blood of ChristnAnd soon I'll eat his fleshnI'm alone again before the altarnShedding all my old regretsnnThe last of which I'll tell you nownAs it flies down the sinknI never knew a part of younYou didn't set in ink, in inknnThe letters that you left behindnNo longer shall I readnYour blood's between the pagesnAnd I can't stand to see you bleednnAnd I'll soon forget what was never therenYour words are ash and dustnAll that's left is the song I've sungnThe breath I've taken and the one I mustnnIf you're born with a love for the wrote and the writnPeople of letters your warning stands clearnPay heed to your heart and not to your witnDon't say in a letter what you can't in my ear