Being becoming and coming to be Going in lonely the only way out Coming out with my without by within And when I go now who end to begin Where I go there then you know it is me Writing so you know in spite of me so You can tell my hand and well understand Who wrote it if not what it is about They say write what you know so this is what About who wrote it there can be no doubt I therefore in my specificity Not fancy but Lancean certainly Would seem to me to be observably Reading me from both sides wherefore I say That I must be if we see me this way That if not possibly I probably Exist so why should I resist the sky Not falling but calling me up today To see tomorrow free of yesterday To see how to be now to be happy? The happiness I would feel I cannot Sometimes for this depression I have got That I had rather not but have it good Blunder yet wondrously get understood Not the sweet by and by but I get by However now is forever I see Turns out to be now then or never when Becoming being nor coming again Till this is over I think I should stay Nor would I walk out on this play that way And what I write of above all is love Of the love I found on my way around Of love when I lost and then what it cost And as it was love I wrote when I found So it was love I quoted when I lost Becoming old being too young to die Though getting used to it now so somehow Coming along having gotten it how Disentangled from my right-angled past Being becoming I come to go now And going as me specifically May love be what becomes of me at last +Steven Curtis Lance Copyright MMXIV