Last night I met Elijah, 

He was sleeping in the street, 

He was scarred and tarred and feathered, 

And I was dressing chic. 

He was shouting in tongues, 

About the one I’d meet, 

I was silent but not dumb, 

For he used my lungs to speak.

“The fires of the sun, 

Their flame and sacred heat,

Hold not candles to the one, 

The one of whom we need.”