“INTO THE ARMS” 12 March 2003

Like all my works
This is an attempt to slur
An assassination of your character
From the grassy knoll

About how I am perfect
And you have no soul
In a world appointed by the holy
You are the Royal Heathen

Whilst some call me ignorant
I still trust. I still believe.
But people like you
Make me feel so naïve

But still I run
Into the arms
Someone without a face
Without a name
But still I run
Into the arms of love.

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© copyright Mark Reed, 1991-2003 except where indicated