Broken Heart

I have a broken heart. Nothing here can fill me up.
No amount of praise, no rich days, nothing could ever be enough.
You can hear the wind blow through.

I have a broken heart. Nothing here can fill me up.
I keep having the same dream. I seem to think there's something
to wake up from. And maybe something to wake up to.

I think maybe sometime after I was a baby...

I caught a glimpse of a mystery from ancient days.
Saw something amazing
wrapped inside of something small and something plain.
Something strange. Which maybe was always you.

But it often seems so unclear to me - hard to believe
that anything means anything.
And it's killing me, and I could let it be, except it's clear to me
when you come to me in my dreams,
dreams of what could be.

I started thinking about things.
Started thinking about the heart: you know, that thing
that we mean when we don't mean
that fist-sized thing, with it's pulsing and pulsing,
which sometimes suddenly stops,
and in other instances slowly fades.

I started thinking about how it gets harder and harder -
about oil and water, sons and fathers;
These things! Machines and martyrs,
people's dreams and sudden slaughter, and I started
thinking about this guy who gave me a hundred dollars,
just 'cause he believed in something going on inside of me.

Then that heart got urgent, started saying crazy things,
like, "Give up on the American dream. Get a better dream.
Dream like me. Dream new ways of building.
Dream something better than just existing.
Dream the redemption of all things living. Do it."

And I started thinking about how it's a crime that half the time,
even when I sing, I refer to that eternal speaking voice
like it's some "thing" when it's some ONE,
someone you can know and who can love.

But it's just 'cause you're so broad--
so far beyond anything I ever thought...

Oh suspicion: that we persons
should beyond us oh deduce none.
Oh suspicion.

If not before, then today I want you all to hear me say
that I am lifting up The Heart, the part that everybody throws away.
There is more than glimmer and decay.
I know I can't explain. But if you're hearing me, then long for a change.

Something about everything is personal.
Something inside me knows.
It's not some add-on discussion to that of the physical facts
of the universe, no.

Who permeates What, and connected thus,
to rip you out is just to gut myself:
It's to break my own heart.

My heart, my heart, my heart
was always Yours.