"There Was Blood Spilling From the Third Man's Side, and Some of It Spilled On Me."

Those words, they’re what stuck to me from that song my mother used to sing. It was about the human sacrifice of a guy who lived over two-thousand years ago -- whose magical father had possessed the power to save him.

“Christians” planted a dark “knowing”, deep in the bottom of my soul. I grew up watching the double-think, aware of my place in the world, that there was a chance I’d be sacrificed as sure as Jesus was dead.

Still, the ending of Mother’s song echos: “The things I saw, with my own eyes, could not have been more real.”