You’re all in white, long flowing dress,
and black leather boots.
You’re up on the stage, angel in the sky,
shaking this devil to his roots.
Songs of sorrow, songs of joy,
and your tender voice calling.
I am raptured, penitent, dreaming,
as if into light I am falling.
Dancing and whirling dervish, fey child
on that stage, wild and free.
I feel your magic inside my heart,
as offered golden apples from Asgard’s tree.
Such hard years behind me, but you give
with your songs and tender voice ringing
a call that awakens my dormant angels,
and rouses them again to innocent singing.
Can I go back to the better place you take me?
Can I be a sweet child, without this bitter weight?
You up on the stage, angel in the sky,
you don’t see me, but I see you at the gate.