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.