I can sing but I ain’t ever sang and that’s a world of difference/ boys like me learn all the love we’ll need in the first row of a church listening to the gospel choir/ swear it was then I first learned what g-d was/ nestled in the crook of her voice/ sang high enough to burst the vault of high-up heaven/ swear it was then the door upended/ swear was then my haunt restored/ a great swarm of ghost blared their trumpets and a sprit came ripping/ and I wanted so damn much to sing in that choir/ come lend my voice to the open air/ but when you born with two tongues the only thing to loose them is a man and the ghost that imbues him/ sometimes I am like a casket for my beginnings but then I was a full and brimming thing spilling over/ the songs in that hall were quick to bring forth my unbecoming/ I prayed, make me a man I can look up to/ cast me a prophet/ I want to be the brittle bones of things that learn to take in fish/ in this moment I am the gratitude the singers sing of/ the name that washes away/ every time my hands touch each other they become their own assumption/ I can sing but I ain’t ever sang/ ever sang/ ever sang/ a song sweet as lilac/ there are so many cherished things still swiveling on the back of my tongue/ there are so many words waiting to be pressed free/ who knows when or how the silence took me/ became a baited thing to string us along and carry us forth/ but I want to be in the numbers/ when the saints go marching in/ is a song I used to know