The bus drives off and
here I stand
like a lone stranger
new in town
like the boy who
once stood cryin'

I raise my eyes 'n'
take a look around.
It's not much different from
how I'd pictured, this place
how the grass is green and
the sky so blue
how the sweet aroma lingers,
and the air
it sends a pleasant chill through my spine
how the earth softens beneath my feet,
and the birds
they sing for me.

And I'm reminded of that Sunday morning
they said her blood got too thin.
The snow covered the ground and
we were all gathered.
I was thirteen in my
dad's wool coat, looking for some answers.
They had said
that God loved me, that
He'd watch out for me, but
where was this God when
Mom was dying in the surgery room Thursday afternoon?

Walking toward my mother's grave I
wonder
why it feels so different.
As I sit in the city-bus I
watch this place grow small
and I wonder
what has changed
'cause walking under Night's sky
just doesn't feel the same anymore.
I can feel its cool
deep in my breast and I,
I realize this insignificance
of holding onto the past. It
ties me to the ground.
So I release my vain securities
and look on to tomorrow.
I feel like I can fly.