Sometimes my heart is coiled steel
Pulled tight over wood.

I slip into the mode
On the backyard patio
Feeding blood to my guitar, carefully.

I'm making love in the springtime.
It's so good
Making love on your time.

Good Gabriel has blessed us with music
Hear, the devil says it's useless
But every ictus of the heart of love
Rebuts and rebukes him.

I cannot cordially invite
Everyone to my party
Here at my end of the world
My own private apocalypse, but music
Music can do that.

My heart is just an instrument
That's why my guitar fits right inside
That's why my fingers need to fly,
Slide and pick
These fruits from heaven.

Fruits so good and so holy,
My flesh wilts in the presence of them
But here, my young heart knocks and knocks and knocks
It leaves little etudes in the backyard's sunshine.