Easter Sunday, we were walking.
|
Easter Sunday, we were talking.
|
Isabel, my little one, take my hand. Time has come.
|
|
Isabella, all is glowing.
|
Isabella, all is knowing.
|
And my heart, Isabella.
|
And my head, Isabella.
|
|
Frederick and Vitalie, savior dwells inside of thee.
|
Oh, the path leads to the sun. Brother, sister, time has come.
|
|
Isabella, all is glowing.
|
Isabella, all is knowing.
|
Isabella, we are dying.
|
Isabella, we are rising.
|
|
I am the spring, the holy ground,
|
the endless seed of mystery,
|
the thorn, the veil, the face of grace,
|
the brazen image, the thief of sleep,
|
the ambassador of dreams, the prince of peace.
|
I am the sword, the wound, the stain.
|
Scorned transfigured child of Cain.
|
I rend, I end, I return.
|
Again I am the salt, the bitter laugh.
|
I am the gas in a womb of light, the evening star,
|
the ball of sight that leads that sheds the tears of Christ
|
dying and drying as I rise tonight.
|
|
Isabella, we are rising.
|
Isabella, we are rising...
|
|
-----------------
|
Easter
|
| Patti Smith |
