Tell me a truth of burning flames. Better yet, Chant me all the truth Of a holy rosary. Or would you whisper a truth Of a head on a silver platter. Perhaps, you’d like to Express the truth Of a dance through the city. Or act out the truth In the washing of your hands. Could you do all that, Plus destroy a temple or two, And it be the truth Of your heart? I know you say it would But no bushes burn, No seas part, No lepers heal, No dead rise When you know nothing Of your own heart and soul.