Sometimes I wonder way up here
If the sky is closer than I think
It seems I could touch it–it grows so near
And the lights and the stars look the same
Fragile and strong, steel and sheer
when the winds and the storms rage by.
The tower of our Babel
The image of our pride
Illusion of safety
Illusions in dust
Image of loved ones
In tower’s ruins.
The wind and storm of fury
From the fragile, strong people
In the light of the heroes fallen
Cannot be touched–for fear
That the sky is close as a whistle
When you live on the earth beneath.