While saints and sinners alike commend these actions the inside burns in self hatred, that halo they saw, invisible in the mirror.
Bearing insanity, driving around a frutiless tree, ironically the same one you used to take shade under to shine light on dark works. Now even you question if the light works.
The cross has become heavy, and the crowd more critical, so you turned to light works. Seedless deeds, heart in need of clean cloths, yet bathing with filthy rags while dying to live for self.