Light comes from our hands.
Our fingerprints will never fail us
Calloused fingertips will handle what our palms cannot contain.
I will not speak-
I will not push the ground into my feet
I will not leap in circles through a cloud of tangerine
This Agent Orange that haunts the dreams of all the men
And every etching- every ember
In remembrance of the blasts,
And aiming shots into her glass, and aiming shots into her glass
And aiming shots into her glass
It glitters, golden in the dimmer lights
And littered through the dusty night
And bitter to the point of passing sequins through her eyes
And aiming shots into her glass, and passing payments 'cross the path
And dusty hands whose light grows dimmer,
Swimming circles in the gin
And breathing in the gray, the choke parade
A serenade of violin
The cala lilies sinking in and wandering away.
How I've been blessed with stumbling happiness
And sweetly swooned away with life
The sentimental value of the sound of rings against a glass
Vanilla sugar brings it back
And speak with angels, speak in tongues
And singing, "take my hand, O precious Lord, and lead me home"
And ringing through her soul
To take my hand, o Lord, and lead me home.