3 angels
I met Him where the wires hum,
behind the chapel door,
where dust was dancing in the sun
like angels on the floor.
He didn’t wear a crown of fire,
He didn’t speak in thunder;
He sounded like a tired man
who’d misplaced all his wonder.
I said, “Are You the Lord of hosts,
or just some echo in the fog?”
He said, “Son, I’m only what remains—
the ghost of God.”
Chorus
And I’ve been talking to the ghost of God,
through a cracked and silver sky.
He says heaven lost its address,
and the saints forgot to fly.
I asked Him for a sign of love,
He gave me rain and nods.
Now I spend my nights in conversation
with the ghost of God.
He told me He had watched us build
our temples out of fear,
then sell the keys to paradise
to anyone who’d hear.
He said, “I left no golden book,
no sword, no final law.
Just a candle in the ribcage
and a hunger in the jaw.”
I said, “Then why do children suffer?
Why do good men crawl?”
He turned His face toward nothing
and said, “I don’t know it all.”
Chorus
And I’ve been talking to the ghost of God,
through a cracked and silver sky.
He says heaven lost its address,
and the saints forgot to fly.
I asked Him for a sign of love,
He gave me rain and nods.
Now I spend my nights in conversation
with the ghost of God.
Bridge
Maybe faith is not an answer,
maybe prayer is not a key,
maybe God is just the silence
that learns to speak through me.
Maybe mercy is a rumor,
maybe judgment is a fraud,
maybe we are all just haunted
by the ghost of God.
By dawn He started fading
like smoke above the street.
I asked Him, “Will You save us?”
He said, “Stand up. Use your feet.”
Then the church bells rang like sirens,
the city yawned awake,
and I carried home His absence
like a blessing I could break.
Final Chorus
Now I’m still talking to the ghost of God,
when the dark begins to rise.
He doesn’t promise Eden,
He just looks me in the eyes.
And maybe that’s the miracle:
not thunder, blood, or rods—
just a broken man still singing
to the ghost of God.
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