Resurrection

Resurrection

My headlights cut like diamond blades, so sharp the night air never feels the wound.

My engine drowns out cricket sounds, in the dark, complete without the moon.

These sudden cold breaths cross my shoulders, as I speed by canyon walls.

My mind is dodging scattered boulders, and my heart – my heart – my heart . . . is not afraid to fall.

It does me no good to be angry at the things that I can never change, like you.

So I climb this sacred mountain, to offer myself to the profane. And who

am I to say what is meant to be? What is meant to be?

I've gotta take a different view of what you meant to me, you have meant to me, you have meant to me.