If I know my angels，

    I know what they would say

    ——Joe Henry

    He came to me

    In a whisky-blue dream

    In midtown Manhattan.

    He wasn't angry anymore.

    He seemed happy to find

    Me again， my old self.

    Picking up his ghost guitar，

    He played me a new song.

    He played it sweet and innocent.

    As if he were the world's only child，

    His whole future ahead，

    No pain hidden in that past.

    In some undeserved way， I felt

    As though he had forgiven me

    For the hurtfulness of my words.

    His kindness to me was more

    Genuine than all of my love could

    Ever have been toward him.

    In my dream， I found myself running

    Back and forth¹ in search of forgiveness，

    In search of something greater.

    But each time I was returned

    To wander out my sin in prayer——

    The sleepless turmoil of my penance

    Revealed and served