Thrice spun sin

O' Why does it, whale?
Once babe, claimed King,
As pharoah's old,
Entombed within.

Grind the bones,
With blood makes bread,
A feast of flesh,
The stone corner head.

With sanguine wine,
We are; as eat,
Once yours, now mine,
A suckled teat.

Then, risen? True!
Wake; thrice spun sin,
One for all? So many queue,
Now all for one! They were now Him.