I don’t know how to explain it,
but it’s my job so I’ll try,
I’ll try to tell you what it’s like
when I do my thing; when I fly.
It’s like choirboy’s face alight
singing Pie Jesu to heaven up above.
The moment of peace in a battle zone
like a blinding white spring dove.
This is the blood right through me,
although it’s invisible to even you,
deep down, my heart can see,
see what makes the world's lies true.
Who cares about great metaphors?
Or even rhyming from now on?
Who says art isn’t free, so
I’ll write this like a song!
I’ll dance those words from deep inside
and with every thought I’ll jump.
I’ll jump and then I’m flying,
like a note caught on a breeze.
It’s like your dancing but crying
Crying so you can be at ease.
It puts me back together,
even when it tears me right apart!
It’s not something you can use to hate
Or even learn, because it’s an art!
No, it’s more than that, much more.
It’s the music of my heart.
It’s the language of my soul.
It breaks me into pieces,
so it can make me whole.
