From the album A Kind of Revelation

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I remember when a song was a kind of revelation, some sort of magic
In the low light, listening close, trying to hear Beethoven’s ghost, come through the static
Out of sight and out of mind, hid away for someone to find, up in the attic
Dust if off and watch it glow, take it back to when it all wasn’t so automatic

Now the angels huddle around the upright in the corner of the room
Like they’ve stumbled on the sweetest song, just to play it out of tune
Hear the preacher call out promises that nobody believes
Yeah, we’re climbing up the treetops, just to fall down with the leaves

Were we making up everything? And now we’re waking up from a dream, like it never happened
Scan the stations and turn the dial, can we fake it just for a while? and try to imagine…

That the angels crowd the streets and croon in a perfect harmony
And I’m not out here, frozen like the words I couldn’t bring myself to be
All the preachers drank their Matadors and passed out in the park
Where the light won’t be mistaken for a flash out in the dark

© 2018 Joel Van Horne