For the one who would take on a god in his hearth, in his home,
Small, all alone.
Skinny and bare, bolder than you'd hope but not as bold as you might think.
What else to reach for if not higher,
What else to pray to if not sky fire?
The hand in its place has no chance to erase
The pain of the days long gone by.
The ankh round the neck is a drag, a behest,
A reminder that gods too shall die.
......
For the one who would take on a god in his hearth, in his home,
Small, all alone.
Skinny and bare, bolder than you'd hope but not as bold as you might think.
What else to reach for if not higher,
What else to pray to if not sky fire?
The hand in its place has no chance to erase
The pain of the days long gone by.
The ankh round the neck is a drag, a behest,
A reminder that gods too shall die.
......