Shunned At A Funeral — They Hate The Blood

They point at me, but I see through.
The way they glare at me and you.
It's not the truth that we undo.
It's who we're tied unto. Their hearts revolt at every sign.
They shake at grace they can't define.
They think it's personal, but in time.
You'll see the deeper line.
It isn't you that lights their fuse.
It's not my words they twist and bruise.
They rage because the cross refused.
To give them what they choose.