I Pray for Erin Fowler (P.O.P.?)

Key pieces of a broken puzzle, kidnapped, lost without a train.
A lacerated soul, broken timelines, I kneel in order to fly with thee.
I know I’ve failed, misplaced, lied, cried alone.
But I’m still alive.
I’m no evangelical, Catholic priest, or Prince of Peace.
But I pray for Erin Fowler.
Her scars are hidden behind a smile laced with sapphire.
Smiles? They’re rare in the midst of tragedy.
Live and die alone? I complain too much.
A good heart. A deep spirit. A sub-conscious is uncontrollable.
My hair’s too long! My beard’s too thick!
I’m the only one who knows the real me, that’s it!
And I hate when displaying affection is hopeless!
Pointless, meaningless, regretful, and forgetless.
But one thing is certain.
I pray for Erin Fowler, and all is right.
Prince of Peace, don’t lie to me!
You better recognize when a lady cries and beauty bleeds!
When depression surpasses happiness, and bastards feed!
And doors open and close, but I lack thousands and a stage.
Rage, rage, rage! Erin, let’s turn the page.
These days are short.
You live your life, and I’ll stay alive.
Jesus is dead, but Pantheists explain, what soil revives.