Whoever wants to become a Christian, must first become a poet. — Saint Porphyrios When I was young, they brought me to Babylon And the night hung over my head The smoke came into my dreams In the valley of dry bones It was under the skies of Babylon Where my soul fell in love with God My eyes were seared and my blood was bruised But I was hidden within a song All around were the sounds of Babylon But all I heard, were the hymns of heaven It was under the skies of Babylon Where my soul fell in love with her I was barely coming clean and she had already seen A war on her innocence I spoke of the Christ underneath the clouds And woke her from the sleep ...





















