Six shots to be fired from the chambers of this gun. And in a round-about way, I am what the Earth is to the Sun.

I start when the living go to bed, and work while the world rests its head. By sunrise, I’m barely awake, so don’t mistake me for a zombie for Pete’s sake!

I’m neither soaring high nor sinking low, not thrilling fast, nor dragging slow. I’m simply how most days will seem, unpolished, plain, a steady theme. And in the Church, when vestments shine green, I’m named and noticed, though barely seen.

I’m something you do when you’ve done wrong, A little atonement to make you strong. I sound like a tool that scribbles with grace, better do this to save face.

I am worn by a man who insists I am he Yet I have no stable form I shift and flow through the calm and the storm I am a mere pattern, yet the wicked curse my design I work to bring down he who declares 'Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'