I find, in the way of things,
A part of me that cries,
A part of me that sings.
Yet who am I to be?
I seek, in the way I do,
That part that loves me,
That part that loves you,
They seem to be the same.
In this world I have found,
Sometimes fear,
Can find the ground,
And we stand alone upon charred remains of truth.
For those secret tremors turned to quakes,
We wallow in,
What our soul forsakes,
We sometimes find an angel’s feather at our feet.
A tear will run its way again,
And soak the earthen desert sands,
Though I cannot say just how or when,
Beneath me I find that heaven looks like hell.
For angels can show their horns as well.