“Icabod”

Rachel, Rachel, I’ve got Ecclesiastes in my satchel, bad shit in my head.

I can’t find peace in this world. I can’t find a quiet place to lay myself down.

I looked to you when I came out of the night, I followed you like the North Star.

I still look to you, but faith is broken, impossible. The church door read “Icabod”.

Crosses don’t cast out the demons, not mine, not the ones pointing guns.

Crosses sharpened, the guns point at us, the fucked up, the not in line.

Rachel, Rachel, Jesus gave you a soft, tender soul, but their’s are sharp.

If love is gone from them, if death comes for us, what did I ever believe in?

Rachel, Rachel, I stand in the middle of Henley St. Bridge, the cold wind calming.

The mermaids here were hunted to extinction. The sweetwater fouled forever.

They just use, they just abuse, they just make excuse for innocence stolen carelessly.

Was their God ever your God, was there even a light from the eye in the cross?

Sink down to the cold sidewalk, back to the edge of the bridge, wind breathing.

Rachel, Rachel, they failed you, and I have failed you, and no one cares at all.

A goddamn smoke might have once calmed me, but not even hymns call angels here.

Rachel, Rachel, I have no hope of light winning, of us laughing in heaven, in the light.

 

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