Transparent Seas

I don't know who you are, and it's too hard

to keep pretending that you're more

than the mark of an old scar

that doesn't hurt anymore.

And I've grown numb of the fear

that everything I've done

was being controlled by the father, by the son,

by the holy ghost you've become.

But I would fold my hands and buckle to my knees,

and I would pray the sky would fall down on me.

And I would stumble to the shore to be baptized in the waves

if it meant that everything we know doesn't go away, someday.

And I know my mother cries

when she realizes I don't love you like she does,

but still she bows her head and prays that you forgive me.

So what does that make me?

The unloving, ungrateful son of a saint?

What if that makes me the monster an angel raised?

But I would fold my hands and buckle to my knees,

and I would pray the sky would fall down on me.

And I would stumble to the shore to be baptized in the waves

if it meant that everything we know doesn't go away,

someday.

It's so cold in the shadow of their faith,

but I will not be crushed for heaven's sake.

But I would fold my hands and buckle to my knees,

and I would pray the sky would fall down on me.

But I would fold my hands and buckle to my knees,

and I would pray the sky would fall down on me.

And I would stumble to the shore to be baptized in the waves

if it meant that everything we know doesn't go away,

someday.