Blood of a Lazarus Heart

I bought my first Sting album with paper route money when I was 9. I still have the cassette- the Dream of the Blue Turtles.

Monday on my run I was listening to music on my ipod, but I was singing another song in my head, “the Lazarus Heart” from Nothing Like the Sun.

The chorus says “everyday another miracle.” That line repeats itself in my mind on a regular basis- it has since 1987 when the album came out. Something about the tune and the rhythm that combine to make the perfect little *something* for my brain.

Miraculously, or not, the song came on my pod shortly after.

This is one of those songs that I always sing my own made-up lyrics to, because I can’t really understand what he’s saying. (kind of like Footloose. I just learned the correct words this summer when Peach went to a theater workshop and learned it. How long ago did that song come out? How long have I been singing “I’m working so hard, I’m washing my car?”)

When Lazarus Heart came on my pod, I actually listened, and I LOVE what I heard:

He looked beneath his shirt today
There was a wound in his flesh so deep and wide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
He turned around to face his mother
To show her the wound in his breast that burned like a brand
But the sword that cut him open
Was the sword in his mothers hand

Every day another miracle
Only death will tear us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart

Though the sword was his protection
The wound itself would give him power
The power to remake himself at the time of his darkest hour
She said the wound would give him courage and pain
The kind of pain that you cant hide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside

I love the tune and the rhythm of this song. I love is use of Branford Maralis in his early work.

I love that we were put here on this earth and asked to find someone and stick with them through the pain. I love that the people who are capable of bringing usindescribable pain are also capable of bringing us countless joys. If we always ran when the pain got too white, we would miss the miracle of the resulting beauty.

Husband holds the sword, but from the wound a lovely flower is growing.