They see me as their shining knight,
the one who appears to have conquered life,
escaped the suffering they suffer,
the strong hands of an earth mother.
How do I tell them, they were wrong,
and all that saved me, was my song?
A song for one, and not for two, three, four,
a song for me, but not for more.
A song seems a sorry thing to claim,
when the ones you deeply love are laying
at the vision of their life, and of their death,
and you, offer only your breath,
a beautiful breath of words and melody,
that some days, you think, could save them,
but other days, seems only an illusion,
a mirage of emotion, and more confusion.
Forgive me, if I made you think I had power,
my words come easily, come easily even now
when I’m most desperate to tell the truth,
expose this fraud, and set you loose
to find your real savior: your own song,
your own breath, melody, and longing.