The angels held their breath,
seated on their clouds,
and watched their mountains fall.
The widower below,
furrowed in his brow,
knows there’s nothing wrong.

The children feel it now;
the frost that chokes the stove,
has frozen up the well.
And everything they need,
the things they couldn’t see
far from the sky they fell.

And I can see them running in,
from the storm that’s never been,
living up to all their shame
under the falling rain.

Late night by the creek,
moonlight stars and me,
reflecting all that’s passed.
And underneath the grass,
the garden turned to glass;
it’s all faded black.

And I can see them running
from the storm that’s never been,
living up to all their names
under the falling rain.

Light a candle for their smiles,
before it grows too light,
and pray with them a while.
clackin’ rosary beads,
distracting even me -
Jumping up and down.

And I can see them running in,
from the storm that’s never been,
living up to all their shame,
under the falling rain.