Pride

Pride

One afternoon, dear,
we'll walk down the street.
Angels will swoon, dear
they'll kneel at our feet.
People will bow, dear,
and scrape as we pass;
people of wealth, dear,
and people of class.

Two pages turned, dear,
and to our dark side;
dry leaves will burn, dear,
where bright lights abide.
Time is the hand, dear,
the face of the Thief;
he deals our cards, dear,
of sorrow and grief.

Three bridges crossed, dear,
and burned in the night;
each one a loss, dear,
to love in moonlight.
Fate is the bloom, dear,
and fate is the vine;
fate is the knot, dear,
completing the line.

Four horses wait, dear,
to take us to ride
beyond the gate, dear,
to the other side.
Angels will swoon, dear,
and call out our name;
they'll sing and praise, dear,
and chant our acclaim.