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• Artiste: The Small Cities
• Titre: Abraham
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In my father’s house, I knew my north from my south. All the crumbling bones, all the crossing sevens and throwing stones. But who was I to understand what makes a wreck or makes a man? Interesting scenes of a child reading bible stories. With father looking on, smiling at his youngest son. At Abraham raising knives and cities full of trembling wives. Made me think that just maybe a lightning bolt was meant for me. Sparrows won’t be flying any higher if the rapture rains down with fire. With fire. All the wasted days praying the lord would change my ways. What a way to go, pulling sleds through miles of snow. And who was I to understand what makes a wreck or makes a man? And over time I’ve learned to see that lightning bolts aren’t meant for me. Sparrows won’t be flying any higher. If the rapture rains down with fire. With fire. With fire.