Stuck in our heads
Hallowed be thy transcription.
Thy pages come
Thy printing be done
On paper as it is in our minds.
Give us this day our daily scripples
And forgive us our trespasses into cliche
As we forgive those who trespass into cliche against us
And lead us not into the realm of the hackneyed,
But forgive us our writing sins
Full of Skill
The Words be with thee
Blessed are thou among the slush pile
And Blessed is the fruit of thy printer.
Mother of our words,
Pray to gather readers,
Now and on the last page,
Glory be to those who are published; as they first lick their pencil, is now and will be via translation, world without end, amen.