Tiny Hands (Au Revoir)

I awoke in the summer, the sun Struck the earth to furnish us with fire But jealous hands fashioned their cross to a sword Brandished their gift as a torch to burn the light "To the dead, we owe only the truth" The human condition Surveying the space between the nave, I saw my own infernal grave Existential imperfection We sat scrawling out prayers on scratched oak chairs Bullets bouncing off stonewall, saints laid to rest by our forebear At their children, at the dissidence of despair This proximal milieu could close the door to the Closeness that keeps us inside the spaces that we hide My heart burns cold as life, leaves my daughter's eyes I am the mother of the dying, the dust, the denouement How can absence take my father's house? How can nothing take my daughter's life? Walk me out from this tomb If you are the gate, could you lead a way? Come down from that cross Hold out your hands so I can see Je suis sorti vivant du four crématoire Je suis le témoin sacré de l'église Je suis une mère qui a tout perdu This fire burns your name on my lips And this smoke chokes your song on my throat Now let death lynch my lungs I offer what's left of this withering tongue But oh, "No Exit" So bright as the light that shines behind the son I leapt through stained glass saints To fall to the garden where we first begun