Weak to Weak

And maybe this . . . is life.

And I'm living today
With my hand on your shoulder
And that look in your eyes
That says we're just the same
(God, we're just the same)
But I was given this shade
While you wither in the sun
I sat in wonder at the heavens
Was that the night of your scars?
You never asked for this, I know
And, no, I don't know the reason
(Does a father give gifts of stone?)
But I couldn't help but notice (again)
That your bowl is quite empty
Would you like a bit more of mine?

(screaming part)
Take from me my bowl
And this wretched coffin of precious stones
Heart a bloody mess
Lying on the crystal clear glass floor
Bars of gold instead of doors
Will someone please wake up and sing of blood and death?
And is somebody keeping score?
Is there an ocean that's less deep?

And when we are done with this foolishness
Sitting above the mountain mist
There'll be a great reward for those
Who left their mirrors at home
And the boys and girls who still think they can fly
And the few who survive, their tears wiped dry

And with a hand on my shoulder
The searing pain is no more
And the hope in your eyes
Awakes the hope in mine too
The strength from your hands
From the toil in the sun
I remember shivering in the shadows
I recall the lone eyes in the night

And then words stopped
Beauty, in its place, fixed its gaze

…And I fall
Into the mist
Again;
…and you're poor

Your bowl is quite empty
Would you like a bit more of mine?