Coming in and flying into Kansas City( Old feelings You know)
It was home,
It was then,
It was past,
It did last,
But so does grace and its wild
So does mercy and its never dialed,
Down towards the lowest point,
Or the lowest capital letter,
No mercy is better
Because it has no weather,
It has no sister or brother,
It has all of us,
Caught and stuck in lust,
And shameful dust we return
Upon, and on and on we go,
Wondering when it will never
Let us go–will it church? Why
You are on the search,
No, even as I write, I feel and
Fear I can’t get this right.
THE RUCKUS JOURNAL 