In the darkened halls of the angelic infirmary,
I found a name for every uncreated creature.
In the shining halls of the Islamic library,
a young boy finds his name and pushes to the sky.
Talkers keep on saying things like, “You’ll be alright.”
Talkers keep on saying things like, “Praise nature”
and I’ve been shouting out, “I have new words.”
Talkers keep on saying things like, “You’re falling apart.”
In the bowels of the hall of records north of the city
lie signs and symbols waiting to be assigned.
There are names I thought of long ago, before I learned to crawl,
names I want to call you by, and names for God.
Talkers keep on saying things like, “You’ll be alright.”
Talkers keep on saying things like, “Praise nature”
and I’ve been shouting, “I have new words.”
Talkers keep on saying things like, “You’re falling apart.”
