Bathe the silver stairway
For it climbs into autumn
Speak to the leaves, convince them of promises
For they wash in the falls that are pure

We keep the trees, from wedding the light
As it creeps through the branches
For the white, pearly gates in the wood
Are open to beckon the early home

The chapel is bare, born from the canyons
Carved out of marble that glitters like starlight
For the falling children of olden oaks
Are swept through the archways into the morning

For the sweetness of silence cannot tame the darkness
As it splashes like wine onto faded paper
The candles of wind birth the storms that are raging
That conquer the eyes of the witness

It’s a lie to tell the nature that knows you
That keys fall away from the ivy
Twisting like fingers along the pearls that are broken
Whispering the closure is forever

For the cathedrals are born from the chapels so wounded
That scars the sky, risen to the wind
For the leaping heart that beats in the evening
Burns the forest, despite its sin