How I long to see your face.
You know I would come visit you.
I would fly with the wings of my heart.
But you broke them in your hands when you left
on your journy to God knows where. Infact, I know now
that your journy was to see God himself.
Oh, how I long to see your face.
But the image of your face is not but a wisp of
smoke in a winter breeze. And your voice.....