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The angels sing my name
over again and again
The angels say my name.

They flew right after me,
I went running
for answers
“God, I asked for a sign
before this happened, you
bastard, I asked for help
and yeah, I saw you,
I saw your back real clear’

Into my mind, I ran
down the steps of
a garden I didn’t recognise,
It was dying quickly,
And flames exploded
behind me as I went,

There came a beach,
“I can’t burn water”, I yell
in victory moments before
the water begins to bubble,
It’s boiling, would you believe
this?

I dig right past my ear,
And my hands, covered in blood
But I’m so desperate I don’t care,
I dig at an angle now,
Just trying to get deeper and deeper
into my head,

I blocked my ears but I can still hear the horrid screeching
as the angels scream-sing now my name,
I blocked my ears but I can still hear the tortured screaming
as the angels get their punishment
for not killing me quickly,

I am so scared, I’m sorry you got hurt
but I am so scared of death I’d probably
kill you to spare myself,
My hands, covered in insides,
continue to dig, so urgently,
With such urgency, I scream to the sky,
“You said you’d give me time
to try and make things right,
You liar, you bastard, you said...”

Then I stopped digging, I stopped
and stared and stared at the beautiful
man who sat there,
He looked so peaceful and everything stopped
burning and all of a sudden it was raining,

I jumped into this man’s eyes as I felt
the heat burning my body but somehow
he whispered “Finally, I am warm,
your heat is burning up all my cold,
Oh a God must truly exist”

And I whispered “Your faith is
restored so easily? You are
putting out my flames, and how
much this feels like...”

“Destiny” we say together,

The angels chorus still sings with urgency not one but two names,
The angels chorus still sings with pain not one but two names,

And we turn to one another,
whispering “your name must be”
whispering “your name must be”

And tightly I hold his hand,
And I turn to him and I say
“Is this real? Do you exist?
I dug so deep inside my head,
Are you a figment of my imagination?
Worse, am I a figment of yours?”

“Well, does it really matter now?
Either way, one of us will greet this not alone,
for it is both names the angels sing”

And the angels, with their new scars, swoop down on us,
And I am not lightly carried like a feather at all,
And the angels, with their new scars, swoop down on us,
And I can feel the strain in their wings,

As they carry me toward, toward,
Something.