©2002 Andrew Calhoun, recorded on Tiger Tattoo and Skeins.

Someday I will tell you, when you are old and wise, 
How moon broke me in pieces, and sun burned out my eyes; 
And someday I will give you these crystals along with 
An echo from the edge of one unalterable myth; 
The underpinning engine of how and why and when, 
I'll write that story down for you when I have arms again. 

I limp along one pale strand that stretches into ten, 
To knit a scarf of footsteps that bridges now and then 
The one and holy Mother, the armory of dreams, 
The stamp of our illusions and everything it means; 
One card lost in the shuffle might still be found and then, 
I'll test these hungry waters when I have arms again. 

You made our wings of magic, of wood, and wax and art, 
But all we blend together unbends and comes apart; 
Some say my wings were melted, some say they were burned, 
And some say it was circumstance, and some say it was earned; 
For you who do say nothing, my silence to befriend, 
I'll paint the splendid colors out when I have arms again 

You trembled at the daring, marvelled at the lift, 
As I went soaring over you, the everlasting gift 
Delivered out of darkness, all dumbstruck in the sun; 
Old moon she stuck a knife in me and twisted it for fun. 
And so I spun like laughter, beyond your sorrow's end 
But I will come to comfort you when I have arms again.