I see God in my garden, but I don't know what He said...
... perhaps a whisper of a warning; just a murmur in my head.
As I open up the back door and come rushing to His aid,
I'm tripping over fallacies-- cursing the attention I know I should have paid.
But no time for theory, no time for pain.
For God lay in my garden quite possibly slain.

Technicolor eyes and watercolor skin,
Just being this close redeems most of my sins.
Lips begin to part-- a breath escapes with a melody of rasping.
Holding His own heart, He is impotently grasping.
The **** is far too deep and the world is far too cold,
It's His life I want to keep, as His blood drips gold...

Should I pray? Should I weep? Where is God in times like these?
A father, broken... A dream, awoken... I fall on to my knees.

His gaze meets mine... He seems pleasantly surprised... He smiles...

And this is how the world ends. Not with a bang, not with a whimper-- not with a fall from grace;
But with the weight of humanity, the universe and existence, lifting from His face...