White Feathers, Strange Sights - Whitley

The evening sun, it crept on in

Blue turned to black and the stars shone endlessly;

All of love isn’t free

Holding my hand like a script in a picture

And holding my wrist like you’re choking death

The look in your eye speaks like ages of life;

All of love isn’t free

I couldn’t see why you ran from me

I keep running it back, I keep playing it back

In a moment I see how it came to be…

There are stranger ways to fall from grace

And harder ways to see your face

If I will not be what fear makes me;

Love will set me free

(A white feather fell)