The Only Thing I Have In My Hands

Here, at the end of days
Wire caught in our backs
Thrown through sun smoke shade
Angels smeared in the dirt

Holy Moses reading all of the rules
Weathered only in praise
Of wind and water and the shelling of rain
Tunnel prophets and sky

And there you are
In the old oak tree
Laughing with
The morning and God

Captured you as you rose

And it's the only thing I have in my hands
Never asking why
Carried only through the years of our ghosts
There's nothing to this
Spitfire wasteland
What's to leave behind

Here at the close of day
Silence ringing in smoke
Flies and the island dreams
When you wander too far

And you're shining as a sun in the sky
Or red rise flare
Through all my aching and the crushing of tides
What was left unsaid

And there you are
In the old oak tree
Crying like
A stained glass Mary

And you're the only thing I have in my hands
Never asking why
Carried only through the years of our ghosts
There's nothing to this
Spitfire wasteland
What's to leave behind