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First there is the folding in |
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To gather light and dark to you |
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The journey down so far that it |
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Has nowhere else to go but through |
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I thought if |
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I tried hard enough |
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With endless motion like a bribe |
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As if by this the will of |
|
GodCould be bent to my version of right |
|
What happens next is nearly weightless |
|
The opening where we stand breathless |
|
On the clean edge of change |
|
She cannot live beneath my wings |
|
No more with he see seventy |
|
How many mornings did |
|
I wakeAnd wished that it be you |
|
I'd seeWhat happens next is nearly weightless |
|
The opening where we stand breathless |
|
On the clean edge of change |
|
And who am |
|
I, who makes this sound |
|
Who rode the shadow all the way down |
|
To the clean edge of change |
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In the clear space of knowing that there's |
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As many names for dark as for light |
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I am choosing mostly now to speak |
|
The ones that get me through the night |
|
But always, with humility |
|
With a worn out but a grateful heart |
|
Having sang so recently |
|
Full-throated |
|
In the dark |
|
What happens next is nearly weightless |
|
The opening where we stand breathless |
|
On the clean edge of change |
|
First there is the folding in |
|
To gather light and dark to you |
|
The journey down so far that it |
|
Has nowhere else to go but through |
