White Feathers, Strange Sights

A feather fell on the ground in front of me,

The evening sun, it crept on in,

Blue turned to black and the stars shone endlessly;

All of love isn't free.

Holding my hand like a script in a picture,

And holding my wrist like you're choking death,

The look in your eye speaks like ages of life;

All of love isn't free.

I couldn't see why you ran from me,

I keep running it back, I keep playing it back,

In a moment I see how it came to be...

There are stranger ways to fall from grace,

And harder ways to see your face,

If I will not be what fear makes me;

Love will set me free.

(A white feather fell)