In the palm of my hands
There is stone
There is lace
And a rope bridge between heaven and hell

Ashen-haired symphony
I am resolved
To tend your wounds
So you can save my heavy soul tonight

I am not a castaway
Just a weathered picture frame
A drop of midnight
In an ocean of morning dew

I feel a hand touching mine
Not of stone
Not of lace
But made of love and atmosphere

And through the darkest nights
Unable-bodied as I am
I finally give way
To the grace that crushes my empty lungs

With each step that I take now
I am hellbent,
Yet heaven-broken
Caution is the property of the wind