There are seven fingers on the still man
But that’s not why he’s still
Think about everything you ever said
Now say it again over and over and over
Until it sounds right…
God made the world in seven days.
That might be because he only had seven fingers.
We’re not supposed to ken it all at once, not
Before the crucible can crush the details
Dust to dust.
Those seven years beyond remembering
Are the years god could count you on his hands