She was in the back yard,
Digging out a trench
Praying for her father’s gun again.
All the holy weight they’d laid across your back
And the hundred years you’ll waste
just thanking them for that.
And you can’t blame anyone for what you’ve done
Oh my God you can’t blame anyone
Before the bridges are built, you’ll burn them down.
You had built a new face,
empty but awake
And painted it the one shade you could never fake.
Love had kicked your crutches
out from underneath.
I was still the sandstone cutting up your feet.
God was in our back yard, tearing down the fence,
Calling out our father’s name again.
So we fixed him to the floor, covered up his ears
And spent another lifetime
Shaking off our fears.
Oh but I could be something else entirely
And spill out of my burning head
And underneath your door.
No, I do not see what you see
in your old eyes.
And I will be cutting up your feet