Two Artists in Heaven
Our spirits are free,
he and me.
When we soar,
it is to escape
to a sweet place.
I used to have a fear,
a fear of being brave.
Til he said these words to me
“you will be an artist
until you die
don't fit in
and become
completely boring."
When he counted to three,
we died.
We’re flying to heaven.
He strums the guitar strings.
I write the lyrics.
I cry after every show
and I pray before them.
We play on busy sidewalks.
Not once, has anyone
stopped to listen.
We have holes in our shoes
and empty stomachs.
We represent the ambition of true artists.
He is empathy.
In the rain,
he shelters me.
When it’s cold,
he undresses himself
and gives me all that he owns.
He doesn’t shiver.
He finds pleasure in knowing,
I won’t be cold anymore.
When I asked him,
if he had any regrets,
he said, "No."
When I asked him,
if he needed a more talented
writer to write his lyrics,
he said, "No."
When I asked him,
if the music was really worth it
he said, "I will never let go."
Then, I asked him
a trick question:
"Who do you love more,
me or the melody?"
He said, "You are my song."
He gave me a trick answer.
Rebels in the dark.
Fools with golden hearts.
Lanterns down to their last spark,
that is who we are.
We are free spirits.
We’re more alive
than you’ll ever be.
We're richer than three kings;
although we don’t have money
to send back, to our
families.
We’ve got soul.
We’ve got our dreams.
He’s got the most loyal woman.
I’ve got the strongest man.
The tune goes on
as we fly to heaven.
It goes on and on and on...
