Take my sword from the
Melt it down into v
apor, and my armor,
hear hot blood flap and fl
from your temple to the sh
oulder, and all through y
hold on to me it isn’t
hold on to me isn’t
there’s no key,
oh you find me
there, find me
I’m turning white, I’m leaves of paper.
Turn my hands from this labor and lift me through.
When you hold on to me it isn’t easy,
but you should hold on to me. It isn’t fair,
but when there’s no key you find me there,
find me there, find me there.
kids get lost,
lambs out wandering.
bigger, blacker things come calling
from outside a tiny garden
somebody once laid their hearts on.
And kids get lost, and kids get broken.
And their diaries get found and opened.
And their legs get led astray,
and then they lie inside some secret place
where the sun looks in the open ceiling.
And kids grow up, and kids stop feeling kids,
and feel adults, and face away.
But in last love dreams, the lost and passed
out of this world are softly sighing.
They’re trying to decide if they should leave
the things that keep them up crying.
And some will rise and keep on living
with open eyes, with minds forgiven.
The river’s flowing is arrested and resumed after
they’ve blessed it over and over and over
and over and over and over, and over again.