Crucifix.

Blood stained wood and broken souls blistered skin on burning coals, blinding sunshine in your face and no-one sang Amazing Grace. Shadow of the cross that falls upon your crumbling holy walls, casts only darkness in your eye for you can never answer why. In righteousness you seek to be the magistrate of all you see, but who will judge the magistrate who stands before his golden gate? Scourged with mercy, joyous pain lets you be yourself again, screaming at the smiling crowd casting dice to win your shroud. Your perfect peace is agonized and flawless faith is just disguised, to keep your word in all you said your unheard promise to the dead.