This is where the angels come to die,

This is where the angels come to die,

This is where the angels come to die...

A phrase played over and over in a song

That struck my heart and in my mind froze a thought.

I was at this place not long ago...

Past the sunset and through a moon grown full;

Keeping me warm through my trials,

An Indian and his fire at my side.

The tears of a million spirits' mournings crashing near,

Leaving behind grainy remnants of their sadness at my feet.

The same remnants of past spirits' sorrows which have settled,

Giving to me the beach beneath my blanket.

These sands of sadness I sleep upon.

The wisping wind,

The crackling embers,

The newly forming tears-

All of these speak their peace

Before the angel takes the fall.

This is when to peer to the sky.

When all about settles-

The wind’s lullaby fades,

As the embers eyelids shudder,

And tears calm their current,

Asleep for

An instant

Of complete quiet.

A whiteness grows in the distant night.

A transformation of a new star glowing bright;

It stretches wings and darts across the sky.

I watch this dream sink behind the watery horizon.

Then the wind howls,

The fire roars,

And the waters weep...

This is where the angels come to die,

This is where the angels come to die,

This is where the angels come to die...

In the morning the Indian will sleep,

The embers will ash,

And the tide will leave fresh tears at my feet.

I will leave, for the sun has replaced the moon

Leaving the angels, who have come- waiting.

For the time being, they have nowhere to die.

Not here-

Not now.