There Are Some Mornings When The Sky

I Can Bear A Lot But Not That Pall

We Deserve To Know Light. And Grow Evermore Lighter And Lighter.

And All That We Built, And All That We Breathed And All That We Spilled Or Pulled Up Like Weeds Is Piled Up In Back And It Burns Irrevocably And We Spoke Up In Turns 'til The Silence Crept Over Me.

And A Thimble's Worth Of Milky Moon Can Touch Hearts Larger Than A Thimble.

My Voice In Combination With The Harp - Which, By The Way, I Use Because I've Played It My Entire Life, Not To Make Some Statement About The Harp - Somehow Has ... Coloured People's Interpretations Of The Music And Projected An Idea Of Childlike Or Fairytale Quality Or Innocence. Which Sometimes Prevents People From Listening To The Songs The Way I Would Like Them To Be Listened To.