It’s been a long road to salvation and I’m running on empty.
If the engine doesn’t fail first, I know I will.
The drive to find answers dies
when all you see is construction signs ahead
and you know nothing around here
ever gets fixed,
because it’s not the first time you’ve been here -
you wish you had something to show for it
but mistakes are the only souvenirs worth keeping.
It’s a hell of a ride, keeping blind eyes wide
and I’ve questioned everything said about Jesus;
He’s yet to save me.
I know miracles happen, but I think it has to be earned
because I’ve only heard of it happening to good people,
and I’ve done some things I can’t tell you
which can’t be forgiven.
I wasn’t born from a virgin,
but fell far from the tree in her orchard of dreams.
I’ll only share the parts of me that aren’t riddled with trackmarks,
so you know there’s still hope for me
even though I’ve never seen doves in the city.
I’ve
broken knuckles like hearts
trying to prove I’m tougher than I really am
but have never won the fights
I needed to win.
I’ve had nothing to lose for so long,
I feel I’ve gained something
you only get
when it builds itself inside of you like a bruised rib.
And there have been a few.
I’ve had nothing to lose for so long,
that I’m running out of time to find out if that means something
in the long haul
or if it’s all just accidents and heavy traffic
on the way to the junk-yard.
There are people who say it’s never too late to be reborn
but something tells me
they’ve never given directions to someone
in need of answers to questions
which might not have them.
It’s never too late to be reborn
but there’s a necessary stop before that
that I don’t want to have to make.
It’s not where you’re from, it’s where you’re going
but even if I knew how to get there,
there are still places I need to see –
I’ve never seen the red cedars of Kelowna, BC;
I’ve never smoked joints to the sounds of the pacific;
I’ve never made love or something like it from the clay of the Saint Lawrence;
I’ve never held Edmonton in a shot glass;
I’ve never partied like an atheist in Montreal for the love of god;
and I’ve never been somewhere I could call salvation.
There is still a part of the road I’ve never fish-tailed on –
a miracle I’ve never witnessed in the hearts of men.
There is a bird I’ve never fed faith to on a Toronto afternoon,
a side of me you’ve never seen from the right angle.
There’s a joke I never played
where I could write dog on the tired faces
of everyone I know from the road,
so that when they looked at themselves in the mirror,
they could know what forever felt like.
Out there in the heartland of my mother's dreams
is something I’ll never lose because I only need to find it once.
It’s been a hell of a ride,
but Jesus -
maybe that’s what will tell me
what it is I’m looking for.
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