The gathering clouds are clearing.
The mist has blown away.
The troubles that have haunt me, though,
have made their choice to stay.
The stars have formed their halo,
the moon on Madonna's face,
But for this, here, human,
I still need thy saving grace.
The tomb has been found empty.
The rock that sealed it, broke.
But my back is still bent, weary
from this cross, my burden's yoke.
I know you'll be leaving soon.
After Holy Week, you said.
I'll trust not in your return,
though I wish Easter would never end.
I'll fill myself with Easter colors
To forget the bleakness that you leave.
The Lord has risen and so has the sun
but I'll stay in bed and cover my head
until it's your resurrection come.
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