You wait in the blue-pen, red-pen scribbled margins of wasted breath,
aching backs and crinkled necks.
You wonder if they can see you yet.
You keep your soul locked up tight,
waiting for the luminous night,
to let you know it’s alright.
You always felt safer, there.
You need to know it’s alright,
To walk where they haven’t, to say what they don’t,
to be something new – because you know you’re undiscovered.
You sense the wonder of you.
And, you sense the wonder of us, too.
You lost trust,
When they showed you, you must, lose it sometimes,
when they can’t wait, when wait we must,
for things to get better.
Let things get better, now.
The magic of us, is contained in 70 trillion dancing cells,
that twirl in our hearts, through every blood cell,
Our soul calls. Our soul breathes. Our soul dances.
Baby, this is life.
Just, breathe the hurt out.
With the songs of the stars and the magic of us,
don’t give up.
Don’t give up.
Don’t give up on the magic of us.