Track 09

    My insides feel as though someone is tearing them apart from the inside. 
    My insides feel. 
    My hands work the way a new animal cries and 
    tries for its mother. 
    My hands work. 
    My heart beats to the rhythm of this dripping faucet and the steps of the blind. 
    My heart beats. 
    My soul cares for the sick and the pained and the lost and the angry and the blaming. 
    My soul cares. 
    My mind flies like the hand of the inspired, composing author.