She came in on wings of a war machine
That was painted bright, like a Mardi Gras queen.
She was laughin' loud, she was tellin' tales,
She came tall and proud with her painted lips and nails.
All the words were there, all the moves were right,
like a scripted prayer that could keep away the night.
But I did believe that her shields were tin
and she would not leave the same As She Came In.

Like a pouring rain, like a falling snow,
it was preordained: she had nowhere else to go.
So I watched her fall, and I watched her try
to explain it all, but she couldn't even cry.
She was only four when the fear set in,
when she closed the door that she couldn't find again.
But for all her doubt, and for all her sin,
let her not go out the same As She Came In

When every dream has died,
when every friend has lied
the clock keeps ticking on the shelf.
When every point of view
keeps pointing back at you
you end up talking to yourself.

Like a tattered child in a borrowed dress,
she was reconciled; she was aching to confess.
But the box was dark and the bench was cold
and the statuary stark, and there was no hand to hold.
She did not want much: just a kind word said,
just a face to touch, just a place to lay her head.
But she could not trust, so what might have been
may go dust to dust, the same As She Came In.


Copyright © Jon Storm. All rights reserved.