A few leaves from my journal, for any kindred souls who may find

To rest my toes and weary head.

The fire is low, the kettle’s cold,

The dreams ahead are made of gold.

The blanket waits, my pillow's near,

The night is soft, there’s naught to fear.

Let snoring come and blankets pile,

I’ll sleep in peace for quite a while.

And when the morning warms the grass,

I’ll stretch and yawn and brew my glass—

Of tea, that is, and maybe toast,

For sleep, you see, is what I boast.

It brings me back to life and cheer,

With strength to make it through the year.

So bless the bed and close the light,

I’m off to dream. Goodnight,

“For a songwriter, you don’t really go to songwriting school; you learn by listening to tunes. And you try to understand them and take them apart and see what they’re made of, and wonder if you can make one, too.”

Verse 1

Snowflakes are falling, slowly down,

Laying gently in my palm.

I wish I could calm my heart,

Still the noise inside my arms.

Let my hearing, let my sight

Be as clear and be as white

As pure feathers drifting down

From heaven gates, late at night.

Chorus

Please, dear God,

Hide my sins

Under freshly fallen snow.

Give me strength,

Lend Your power—

Not to fight my foe,

But the old me I still know.

Verse 2

Maybe if my soul were ice,

Discipline would roll the dice.

Maybe I could choose my way

Without fear pulling me astray.

Like choosing cherry scones with ease

In a warm and quiet bakery,

Peace would find me here and now,

Like snow falling silently.

Chorus

Please, dear God,

Hide my sins

Under freshly fallen snow.

Give me strength,

Lend Your power—

Not to fight my foe,

But the old me I outgrow.

Bridge

Let me stand without a crown,

Without pretending I’m enough.

Let me look myself straight on

When the road has been too rough.

If I rise, it’s not my name,

Not my mind, not something earned—

It’s Your mercy holding fast

You say, “I don’t care.”

I say, don’t come near.

You swear you’re the chosen one,

I’m already disappearing, dear.

You hold yourself so highly,

A crown of borrowed gold.

You never hear the breathing

Of the wolves you can’t control.

Your enemies already know

Exactly where you bleed.

A foreign little princess

Whispers sugar, laced with lead.

You hand her what she gestures to,

Mistaking hunger for a wedding bed.

You hold yourself so highly,

A crown of borrowed gold.

You never hear the breathing

Of the wolves you can’t control.

She strikes while you are dreaming,

Soft knife, perfect seam.

I’m not there to catch the sound

Of that shattered, piercing scream.

I’m living somewhere distant now,

Untamed and finally free,

Outrunning your long shadow,