I’ve met murderers, more than most

Some are tortured by the ghost

That visits them most every night

Sweating, they awake in fright

Held forever in their cell

‘Till at last, they hear the reaper’s bell

Their tormented soul at last, at rest

But sadly failed their final test

He whose conscience won’t let forget

The wicked sins his hand beset

Could free his soul, if not his flesh

By being caught in the Fisherman’s mesh

And all he ever had to do

Was forgive himself, and follow through

The guiding light that shines for all

And sin by sin, remove the wall

That keeps him from his Holy Grace

Until he finally takes his place

And then without the fleshly force

He beholds his heart and sees remorse

Then by Grace, accepted into the fold

‘Come my child, come in from the cold’