God sits on the windowsill, looking in
Watching for our next move and then
Opens us to the extremes; and in those extremes he cries
Aiding in tasks affirmed only in our dying vows he all but denies.
Full of love yet lacking the promised oath
He watches silently waiting for us to figure our own worth.
Not weighted, nor windowed by the multitude;
Swallowing in the mass of all thought, chewed but never rude.
Swallowing all the truth there ever was, salted by even the lies.
If only to please the fools and perhaps puzzle the wise.
I raise the window and to my own folly I call,
Shall I believe in nothing? Or should I believe in it all?
There are those who I would so love to be by embraced,
But I fear I’m just too much for most of their taste.
I ask him, “What do you do when I am away?”
“Do you come in and dance, sway and play?”
“Climb on my furniture perhaps, or put things away?”
“Whatever it is, you know it’s OK?”
You are a deity so your needs must be good,
Served up all at once for worship or for soul food.
By your force, I cannot introduce you as God,
For one times one always equal one and that seems so ****** odd.
I put my nose to the window losing all my common sense,
Have ye for me yet a deep and dangerous consequence?
For in my words lives a raging fever boiling my blood,
As if I am swimming in a lake floating into a flood.
I know, why don’t we make some music before
This anti-quiet channels and bubbles me o'er?
So, I pull out the organs chair and turn on the equipment.
What’s say we work up the foam and threaten the government?
On the window sill I feel him close his wisest of eyes,
Unimposing his inner power, the one which in we all could rise.
I play from my keys and offer my fingers thence,
As we together unbridle the sounds' impedance.
The tune we play he names it Marseillo and with his mercy grown,
It plays of pardoned rebels and kinsmen of his throne.
Listen in with us and let us take you on high,
A band of two players, my windowsill buddy and I.