Though your hands may bleed, and your body may lie broken, Every storm must soon give way

Woke exhausted and in a sweat from dreams of a fantastical place, wildly-coloured sunsets and sunrises, creatures from other worlds, transmogrification, white stags piercing through frozen lake barriers into white worlds with pink and violet skies. Zombies, monsters, music, secret moss-covered sculpture gardens.

Then woke up to an empty-homed Christmas morning with my partner gone. I went for a run in the hot morning Southern California sun, fall leaves scattered in yellow and orange all over the unswept sidewalks of this ghost town. And the wind pushed them through me. I cried.

"Though your hands may bleed, and your body may lie broken
Every storm must soon give way

Raise your head up high
So the heavens hear your cry
Light the brightest fire
From the highest mountain
so the whole world knows
that your spirit can't be broken.

Let this rage inside you die"