If I could touch the hem of his garment
If I could feel myself healed
And not just imagine that I'm enlightened
I'm a barren vineyard
A murderer of hope
And the blood is still on my hands
If I could fall and not break
If he heard me when I called
If he would come when I cried
I'm an unfaithful whore
A broken window
Still lying in pieces on the floor
But if I could just touch the hem
If I could know myself forgiven
If I could look into his eyes
Then...
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