I appeal my appeal to the Highest on High.
You have made me as I am,
an athlete of your sacred realm,
a cripple on Terra,
therefore, O God, do justice by me!
or, at the least, grant me my boon.
for I shall never, never leave your courts until you do as I plead!
your temple floor shall be shadowed and stained by my pacing and tears.
may they fall, drops, like acid and scar your polished sanctuary until you grant me as I wish.
for i rend my robes all day, and tears flow unabated by night.
when! O Lord! when! Forget not that I am a mortal man and have but few years to serve you.
put a sword in my hand, and food in my satchel, and I shall go.
but I cannot fight the hoard with hungry fists. with parched lips.
you, God-of-all-places, hear my pleas over the din of all supplications.
escort me into the ante-room reserved for those who will be heard.
let your chamberlain put a ring on my finger and a robe on my back.
and order him, say only the word! and order him to grant my boon.
and may my net be full to overflowing.
