On Saturday nights we go out.
On Sunday mornings, we ask forgiveness for the things we did when we went out.
With these hands we give punishment and comfort, pain and pleasure.
With our minds we scheme to hurt those who anger us, and we make plans to lend aid to those in need.
We close our hearts to those who cross boundaries, and open our hearts to some of the very same.
Our voices curse and praise.
We destroy, and we build.
We are bowed by our animal tendencies, and we bow to our maker to help us control them.
We are pain. We are stoicism.
We are profane and profound.
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