Hard, deep, dirty... | final version

I own the everlasting frock
It hangs by the neck without merit
I know it's comfortless
But how shall I pray without it?
The warp is it's heart
The pale visage it's weft
For him there's no more or less
He's my shepherd, I'm his sheep
I serve faithfully, I obey
No need to be affected
Just wait for fear to go asleep
Cause then you're allowed to move
Puking the poetry's essence
Putting back the chair at shrine
I go among the late grandsons
Where new gaps are formed
You, animal horror! DISMISS!