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!'

When a blade cuts both ways, and past harms could scar future, I will help to mend, I am a

I'll show up with a hood; I'll put you in your place. Done many men for good; yet you'll sit in my embrace. Better watch your back; better watch that mirror, Or your bones I will crack, cause you didn't see it clearer. I might pass you on the street, but unless I'm seeing red; Better watch your feet, lest be in the hospital instead.