Most people in my sphere of existence are familiar with the music of Five Iron Frenzy. Brave Saint Saturn is side project created by Reese Roper and a few other members of FIF intended to let out more of the dark and intense thoughts they were not comfortable sharing via ska. This band has really captured me many times, the latest being this afternoon. These lyrics are posted for you to read, but I encourage you to listen to the song itself if you can somehow.
I'm not here to interpret a song, but I'll share with you what God wrote on my heart while I was listening if you're willing to listen. What happens to our forever protecting nature? This is not the time or place for a debate on original sin and shameless pain or evil, but I generally think that most of us at one point in time would rather protect the creation than destroy it. There is such a radical shift displayed in this song, and it depicts so many of our lives. How do we regain the childlike concern we cherish and treasure in such words as in this first verse? Maybe that's just me... maybe you don't see those words and feel inside that's the way it should be, then go on to read the second verse and realize that's what reflects reality more often than not. We must regain that concern for the HEALING and restoration that is necessary in the lives of many around us. How long will it be before our hearts break for freedom and healing? How long will it be before our tears "sing?" There's a lot going on in my heart and head right now... I wonder if there might be a bit going on in yours now, too. I hope so.
-Greg
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Starling
By: Brave Saint Saturn
Album: Anti-Meridian
Filthy bird laying in our yard,
four chambered heart never beat so hard.
Dad said she was almost gone,
upside down out on our lawn.
And I could hold her in a shoe box,
if she heals she could be mine.
And if I cannot save her spirit,
dad says I should break her spine.
Shaking, brilliant, silver-black wings,
Jesus Christ, what prayers these tears sing.
Wear your hearts out on your sleeves for
starlings... starlings.
Of the least of all of these,
are starlings... starlings.
Two years pass, I pumped the chamber,
full of air to shoot the birds.
Harmless game to hit them slightly,
to scare them off, in other words.
Starling falling to her death,
piercing copper steals her breath.
See the flutter in her breast,
starving babies in her nest.
Raise their souls up to the sky,
why must helpless creatures die?
Wear your hearts out on your sleeves for
starlings... starlings.
Of the least of all of these,
are starlings... starlings.
Every breath has sacred weight,
every life has some design.
Can we kill and also save,
speak of life, while digging graves?
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