this futile war i wage, is kind of like
shooting at jumbo jets soaring high
above the clouds, with a BB gun
while mocking laughter rains upon my face
it's bound to fail
and yet, in the end,
i'll get my ass kicked
just for the trying
i don't like mayonnaise on my burger, either,
yet that's how it always comes
and damn, oh damn! those hospital corners
that keep me from the healing balm
this game, i tell ya, is fixed!
designed to make us look like chumps
and holy, holy hell
i won't stand for it
no, not without a fight!
but see,
there's this angel, and it doesn't matter
that her feet are bloody and her hands dirty
or even that her scarred wings
don't hang quite straight
and it doesn't matter if i tie my reason
like a blindfold over my eyes
and call it sanity
or fill my ears with a rage
my mind equates and
sells as justified
all that matters,
is i hear her singing HOLY, HOLY, HOLY
over and over again and i see her there
high and lifted up beyond the congregation
she's there,
just beyond my reach
and i can't turn her off,
no i won't turn her off!
and i twist my memory
to squeeze the last drop
and my loggerhead shell splinters
into a thousand pieces of broken light
and i find there's no where to hide,
no where to run, and no way to fake my weakness
and yet, also, there's no way to reach her
as i bleed, aching for her bind
i'm not sure if it's her or her song
that wafts and echos through my night
or if it's her beauty or her tangled light
that once broke my morning fall
all i know, is that she was my angel
and as angels do
she has flown away
leaving her shadow behind,
leaving me broken
and without the cover
of her sweet tangled light
-so i cling to her song
rick
