Angel
Sometimes, I dream that I'm Away,
Away from cold and empty places.
I dare to dream that I'm okay;
That I'm not damned, no, I'm not wasted.
Then I wake, the feeling's gone.
Would the dream could have gone on.
They call me wicked, vicious, vain.
They think I'm heartless, ruthless, faithless . . .
They say I'm bound by the devil's chain;
They say I am Dread, I'm Doom. I'm hated!
Please, God, tell them they are wrong,
As I have tried to, for so long!
I swear I've tried to change before:
I've turned to You, as You intended.
But I've a label, nothing more!
They don't believe I can be mended.
And so I lay here shriveled, curled,
Ever captive by the world.
Surely this mustn't be my fate,
To waste away alone, unwanted!
Surely it cannot be too late,
To escape from here! I'm haunted!
But it is, it is too late.
I'm quite obsessed, now, with their hate.
Sometimes, I dream that I'm Away,
Away from cold and empty places.
I dare to dream that I'm okay,
That I'm not damned, no, I'm not wasted.
Now, I know what I must do:
It's time to make this dream come true.
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