And so it aches, I know you thought for sure,
all the blood in your lungs was a metaphor for your lord,
and a pain so divine, that you could only find,
in a world made for you,
that’s become all too human in truth,
and secrets that it’s kept,
over which you’ve wept,
beautiful in theory,
glorified in history,
are only fantasied in youth,
but all too human in truth.
And we could all scream out,
stop that coming train,
a relentless mass of understanding,
that’s pounding at the brain.
but all we have are symbols,
to help tie up what is loose,
that a world that wasn’t made for us,
has become all too human in truth.