Against the Window Pane
I believe the heartís a theatre,
and that the actors on its stage
are playing dreams but theyíre imposters
and that the devil pays their wage.
I believe the passion of that drama
that weíre certain is for real
is a diversion for our senses
while the director comes to steal.
And ever since I was a little kid, I didnít want to run away,
But it scared me half to death to think that I might have to stay.
Iíve had a hundred scarecrow certainties.
Iíve built a wooden drawbridge for my brain.
But they all burn up
when I see Your face
against the window pane.
I believe that in the passionate,
thereís a part that is divine
Iíve seen the cosmos in a womanís smile,
tasted eternity in wine.
But I donít just believe in sentiment,
or miracles of everyday.
I believe that there are lepers healed.
I believe the dead are raised.
Jesus was a lover. He had a fire in His eyes
that could burn away excuses, cremate your alibis.
He had a gaze that would expose to you all the subtle lies
that your soul permits your heart to tell concerning all that it denies.