Oh Lord, I have no patience.
Both answers on my telephone.
At least they seem more like an invitation than they did before.
You know they say I am the son of
Jesus and I should be a peaceful man.
The earthly shape for which I am known's got me worried.
I don't know if I can.
Oh my Lord,
but I have no patience for all these Friday nights and Sunday moans.
I can't
escape my drunken devastation,
confessing to the bone.
There is a providence born of
kindness and it weighs heavily upon my mind.
A whispering snake or a burning lake bring
the flowers,
the blooming of my pride.
Hey!
I try to be the light,
they say where'd all that light come from?
And the choir starts
whispering,
I try to be the dark,
they say man who's siding you on?
And the teeth are
not listening with somebody's blood.
I guess that blood is mine.
But everybody's headed
for the door.
So I walk
on these overpasses,
searching for a father's love.
Tears just
dripping on the masses from great love skies above.
I have a sadness one should not behold.
It crippled me,
but this artistry seems to hide it.
You know they say I am the son of
Jesus and I should be a peaceful man.
The earthly shape for which I am known's got me worried.
And hey!
I try to find out where all the beauty and the hate come from.
The butterflies bliss to me,
I try to find out the street that I am on.
But the signs are written in angelic dialects
and I can't think of swans right now.
My head is feeling pretty sore.
But the rain
falls on the grasses with more beauty than I recall.
My blood,
it turns to
molasses in the presence of the Lord.