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