Garde a vous !

Boots are not allowed on holy grounds.

I see them marching, marching, and marching

They greenhouse these sticky, smelly feet

That beg and seek and knock for open air.

A little bit of wind, a little bit of dust.

To hear the Earth moan as they step on Her.

To be able to pick the longest grass

Between Big toe and biggie toe.

Slowly rising it, a sacrifice unto the Lord

Unholy smell, unworthy sacrifice

Using Cain’s instruction book to the letter

But for you, leave your boots at the door

stand them at garde à vous like empty eyed beefeaters

Come barefoot or undone.

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