After all
these implements
and texts designed
by intellects
So vexed to find
evidently
there's still
so much that hides
And though
the saints dub us
divine in ancient
fading lines
Their sentiment
is just as hard to
pluck from the vine
I'll try hard
not to pretend
Allow myself
no mock defense
As I step into the night
Since I don't have
the time nor mind
to figure out
the nursery rhymes
That helped us out in
making sense of our lives
The cruel
uneventful state
of apathy releases me
I value them
but I won't cry every time
one's wiped out
I'll try hard not
to give in
Batten down
to fare the wind
Rid my head
of this pretense
Allow myself
no mock defense
As I step into the night
But Mercy's eyes are blue
when she places them
in front of you
Nothing holds
a Roman candle to
the solemn warmth
you feel inside
There's no measuring of
nothing else is love
I'll try hard not to give in
Batten down
to fare the wind
Rid my head
of this pretense
Allow myself
no mock defense
As I step into the night
Mercy's eyes are blue
when she places them
in front of you
Nothing really holds
a candle to
the solemn warmth you
feel inside you