At your table I am fed within though I go days without food. But to your
fables I am dead again, though I know that they are true. Of all the flowers
in your mothers eyes, I have only seed. In your presence there is fulness,
though I feel that there's a hole. Cause in my spirit there is dissonance and
there is numbness in my soul. Of all the flowers in my mothers eyes, I have
only seed. Who in my religion needs communion? I do. Unto you only I have
always sinned from Golgotha to the stars. Among your children I have often
failed. It's a wonder I've come this far. Of all the flowers in my mothers
eyes, I have only seed. Can it be enough? Or am I needing mo