Snippets from an Ode

People for some reason write albums about crazy, messed up people. I suppose it’s because they are interesting. Sufjan’s latest for instance is pretty amazing.

But, I figured it’d be pretty cool to write an album about a crazy, amazing person. Why not write an album about a Saint and not a sinner for a change?
So, I did. Kinda: I am would be more accurate. This little diddy which I have the music for but no real way to record it is about St. Francis receiving the stigmata (the wounds of Christ) after a returning home from a peace talk a complete failure. Well, a failure by his standards. By any sane person’s a wild success. It switches I guess between third and first person and follows no rhyming scheme whatsoever. In every way it is probably awful.

There toward the mountaintop
He wandered his joy forgot.
The clouds, the storm built around the peak
Steep, dark and bleak.
His mind distraught,
And all his thoughts
clamoring, clamoring.
Thunder roared, dry lighting struck,
But no rain fell to wash his pain
his silent agony.

Oh what is this new mystery?
Older than all history.
What is this glory,
That’s always been before me.
That man’s suffering should make
A sweet incense an offering.

Wafting through the pine,
It reached him as he lay supine.
Suddenly the clouds gave way
to seraph, cheribum and light.
Wings spread as a cross, shivering and white.
Trembling in almighty agony

Oh holy suffering,
Soothing the soul’s pain.
Oh Never-dying,
Dead for Him, dead for me.
Wounds of Christ here now,
On my hands, on my feet.
Remind me of how
My Saviour’s death made death complete.

Oh what is this new mystery?
Older than all history.
What is this glory,
That’s always been before me.
Hearts sinking like stone,
Rising before the throne.