Mistake was early made
And I had it all to lose
Not near enough afraid
When it fell on me to choose.

From dust and the Divine
Brought to life, I picked the grave
With freedom that was mine
To become the devil’s slave.

Could I but start once more
And be known for nobler mien
Before the portrait tore
Or was felt the serpent sting!

Here is no rehearsal
In guilt there is no glory
Sin has no reversal
My story is your story.


–Weylan Deaver