Out in the fields of grace
I lay in the fields
Watching you arise the dead in me
Everyone’s looking for something.
Across the ground, scattered with the bones of past psalms and revolutions and the old, worn faith your father lent you.
Everyone is singing a song. And it’s always about the same thing. Love lost, love found, that great open space between heaven and earth.
Forget the proselytism, forget the…
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