She's got a handful of sunbeams
A head full of empty dreams
I hold the gate open for her
But she doesn't care
...
I fumble a handful of words
and you get the wrong idea
entirely
I'm not one of those flashy types
...
They stand tall and still, these mineral monoliths
Stony-faced as they observe the closing of day
Not for the Eternal, panic or fear
They quiver not, quail not, wail not
...
Certain deer
At times of the year
Feel the heat of the season
Certain men
...
Follow me child
Past the stillness of this land
Chase me beyond the rainbow
Farther than the eye can see
...
The bare-breasted,
Cross-legged idol
Waits with ancient patience
For the coming of her children
...
Bare, withered branches
Fingers of wood
Point accusingly at the sky
Demanding answers from the Maker
...
She's got your eyes, you know?
Brown and gentle, just like... well, yours.
And when she asked what you looked like
I told her to look in the mirror.
...