It's no secret of the knowing,
That the flight is in the doing,
In movement,
In acts,
In well measured facts,
Found forms of your own,
Bric-a-brac made your home,
Your human heart sewn,
Into tender dreams,
Shouted out,
Deep into night,
Not of light, might or righteousness,
Just a sweet little tune,
That powers your way,
As you wander through the haze,
Of inconsolable days,
You were always this way,