My love, I now arise at the cross. A sinner I have become, for you. Years ago, when we first met, when I first laid my eyes upon o' beautiful fairy thee, I knew my path was preordained.
I had hoped that the blessings of heaven would grace me, yet I was mistaken. Or perhaps not. May the Church be the only one against me? When I saw you then, fluttering about like the dandelions upon the breeze, I knew my destiny had arrived.
Upon gentle stars, we mingled and mirthed. It was the first time in my long years that I felt the holy passion known as love, espoused by so many but felt by so few. I realized that the Good Word had not erred and that Man was truly blessed in the image of creation.
When I saw you hung atop the spire, burning with wicked ire, I knew that innocence has lost. They called you a witch and devilspawn. I knew those were tall tales to scare the children, I believed it to be mere superstition from ages past. But now I bore witness to the damned make-believe made terrible incarnate. For corrupting a man of God, you were placed upon the pyre, immolated beyond recognition.
My singular crusade against the whispering, ignoble crowd and the far, furious institution led me to the sacred lands down south. There I met the Holy Son, desperate for your emancipation and our jubilee. There the Holy Son witnessed a most wretched creature dragging death and destitution.
A most reverend Bishop reduced to mere fodder for the base and lowly passions by a profane sorceress. That is what they believed. But why? Was love not hallowed? I had come to reject the idea of the disallowed union between man and woman in the communion of God and thus led to my present fate.
Now dearest it's my turn. Hung inverted here on this cross, I see the light dance before me. It is the image of you. As my flesh burns my spirit unites with you. I have kept you waiting for so long. At last, I return to thee, my beloved.