Palms

If I could see you at dawn
Black soot from the palms
Astreak on your fore
If I could be of use
Just once in a blue moon or more
It’s not the weight of the world
It’s just the soft-rot bow of the floor
It’s not the weight of the world
It’s just that I've been wrong before
Oh, you're tired too?
I ask myself this every day
I have no faith to give
Just a weak kind of toothlessness and space
If It's not the end of the world
It must be it's falling into place
It's not the end of it all
It must be a strange kind of grace
It must be a strange kind of grace
It not the end of it all
It must be a strange kind of grace