When I woke to the truth, it was far too late to beg God to alter the threads of your fate. I wonder if I hadn’t drawn out the knife, would you have still walked from the rest of my life? Would you have traded my tender design to seek out a world far more cruel than mine? Would you have left me to wither and bleed, even if I hadn't forced you to leave? Now nothing remains in the wake of this flood, but the weight of my love and the weight of your blood. I pray that the feathers fall soft from above, to warm me and cleanse me of all that I was, to wash off this stain from my soul and my hands, so I can hold you again where the silence expands. Tell me, my love… would you have left anyway? [long trumpets solo]
