The tongue doesn’t speak what the heart wishes to hear. I’ll sing this song. We deny all of this grace that we received while we were undeserving and out of time, but we’re all waiting for something that can’t be named. So great it can’t be named. Tread carefully, my son, for they will speak daggers but use none from the clouds to the grave and back again, backwards and upside down. They will fight the waves, but I won’t protest the tides. It’s all in your head. Could you please redirect my motion? Am I asleep? Or have I just gone blind? Is this reality? Or has the world lost its mind? It’s all in your head.