I reach, grasping, for an inch of affection,
in this collection of coins which will bring me only material things,
so i spread my wings,
look to my creator, my savior,
wonder if he's retired,
he had to have, how could he turn his back,
on this black,
world.
the only light here,
are fireflies dear,
and all we can see beyond them is a ledge,
so we walk to the edge, think of jumping,
then somewhere a wedge, is put in front of us.
the only light we've really seen in our lives,
but was it our wives, who'd said just don't?
a collection of affection in which we won't,
step over the threshold of greatness,
but still to afraid to see the faces,
of heaven.
which we believe now, are truly...
within.
