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