Take me home
Where I belong,
Dancing in the rain
Reunited once more with you again.

Take me home
I am ready to fall
I've run so far away,
But there are memories you cannot outrun.

Take me home,
With you is where I belong.

If you cannot forgive yourself,
How is the world supposed to give you a clean slate?

So I brushed my hair
Twice!
With a fine tooth comb,
Until my hair flowed
Like silken water
And soft to the touch.

I scrubbed at my face
As if that soap and water
Would wash away
All my blemishes and past mistakes.

And when I was ready
I thumbed the blue dress
That look as though
It was for an adult dressed as a child.

"Blue like the ocean, blue like your eyes"

Im standing in the hallway,
Like a statue-perfect girl
With the eyes of my ancestors
Peering from the walls.
I held my breath
Like the breaths captured in all those peering eyes.

Today I would look perfect,
Like your darling little girl.
I know I am grown now
But on my birthday, I still hope you'll return.

Give you *****
and you will be the hurricane,
the whirlwind, the torment
that will cause a crevice
in our lives.

Give you ***
and you will sing
tales of Irish history
and a lively session
will begin.

Give you cider
and we will spend our night
on the wrong side
of a cubicle door,
drowning in plight.

Give you tequila
and you will dance
until your soles ache -
then you will bare your soul,
all the troubles in your closed world.

Give you a mineral
and say it is any of these
and you will act
the very same.
A replica of the offensive.
A blind drunk relic.

You called me a heretic,
as I fought for what I believe
is right.

With my whole heart
I try to achieve
the commandments laid out for me.

I live by The book,
loving Him
my neighbours, enemies and my friends.

Old scars
bring new flesh wounds
as secrets hidden
bring to life
the trials of being human.

Plagued with suffering,
is the test of a follower.
Though I get tired of crawling -
dragging my devout being
through a fallen world.

I have been cheated,
as I have failed.
I say I won't return,
but I never learn.

I have been burned
by that to which I have devoted my life.

Who is a heretic now?

The world is on fire
and we've been burned again
sinners and devout alike.

Spilled ink
is better than spilled blood.

From that ink
craft your soul-deep thoughts
into a work of art.