I don’t know if there are angels,
but if there are, do they weep for us?
With all the beauty they know could be,
do they weep for all the pain we sow,
weep each time we hurt the world?
I don’t know if there are angels,
but sometimes when my own tears come,
I imagine the angels gather me
in their great and tireless arms,
and their tears mix with mine as they whisper,
That’s right, dear, feel everything.
We feel it all, too. That is why we sing.