Bruce Cockburn Follow

Heavy northern autumn sky
Mist-hung forest
Dark spruce
Bright maple
And the great lake rolling forever to the narrow gray beach

I look west along the red road of the frail sun to where it hovers between shelf of cloud and spiky trees
Receding shore
The world is full of seasons
Of anguish and laughter
And it comes to mind to write you this

Nothing is sure
Nothing is pure
And no matter who we think we are
Everybody gets a chance to be nothing

Love's supposed to heal
But it breaks my heart to feel the pain in your voice
But you know it's all going somewhere
And I would crush my heart and throw it in the street if I could pay for your choice

Isn't that what friends are for?

We're the insect life of paradise
Crawl across leaf or among towering blades of grass
Glimpse only sometimes the amazing breadth of heaven

You're as loved as you were before the strangeness swept through our bodies, our houses, our streets
When we could speak without codes
And light swirled around like wind-blown petals at our feet

I've been scraping little shavings off my ration of light
And I've formed it into a ball
And each time I pack a bit more onto it
And I make a bowl of my hands
And I scoop it from its secret cache under a loose board in the floor
And I blow across it
And I send it to you against those moments when the darkness blows under your door