Saint Nothing - Daniel Rossen

Lift, lift your head.

Myth, so pristine and white with age.

Walk with me, speak to me.

Saint, I don’t know your name.

But your voice is so strong, it speaks through the glass, speaks through the

ground.

An empty phrase, a hollow sound.

Calm, quite severe.

Lead the throng, your mind so clear you feel no pain, an end so near you taste

the blood.

How long?