I was tired of being down. My face cracked like a joke. But I swung through like a brace of dead rabbits with their necks all broke. I scuffle on your doorway, I struggle with the jamb, and I scrabble up like a mute with my fists of ham. Tryin’ to tell you that I am, Tellin’ you I can, I can love you again, love you again. Love you again, love you again. I squinted toward the east. My faith makes me a dope, but you can take my hand in the darkness, darlin’, like a length of rope. I shaped up overnight, you know, on the day after she died, and I saw my heart and I’ll tell you, darlin’, it was open wide. Want to tell you I am, tellin’ you I can, I can love you again, love you again. Love you again, love you again. It can have no bounds, you know; it can have no end; and you can take my hand in the darkness, darlin’, when you need a friend. And it can change in shape or form but never change in size; and the water that ran deep, my darlin’, well it don’t run wide. A feather from a hawk, bound, bound around my neck; a poultice made of _____, they gave a little vulture to peck. The verse I read in jest, in Matthew, spoke to me. There’s a flame that fits the glue that fixes(?) if you will be free. Only tell me that I can, tell me that I can, I can love you again, love you again. Love you again, love you again. Love you again, love you again. Love you again Love you again, love you again. Love you…