Bleached Fleece by an unknown grief holder (Patreon)

I am this family’s bleeding wound

Angry, red faced and seeping

A festering inconvenience

The prodigal son

Your recreant daughter

Raised a black fleece among the pure, white flock

A smear on your name

You have burned the bridges back the way I came yet you still ring the dinner bell and expect me to come running

I wish you blessings of lessons you refuse to learn

Praise be

Father, son and holy fucking mother of god