You can't plough the field,
Without the plough in your hand,
You can't walk away,
And keep the promised land,
And you can't begin to rule,
With your head stuck in the sand,
If you don't build upon the rock,
The house will never stand,
Don't be a white-washed tomb,
Pretty but dead on the inside,
Remember you may be proud,
But it's the fall comes after pride,
Careful where you see in others,
An eye-speck which you've spied,
There's a plank in your own eye,
That's generously sized,
Be either hot or cold,
Or you will be spewed out,
You say that you are wealthy,
That kind of wealth's not what it's about,
Wretched, blind and naked,
Poor in spite of what you spout,
Buy clothes and salve from him,
So you can see without a doubt,
Start counting up the cost,
Strengthen what remains,
Fill your lamp up with oil,
We're in the birth pains,
The dark night of the soul,
Is long and dark and strange,
But when the morning comes boy,
Get ready to see the change,
When you see it coming,
When the moon is turning red,
Don't stand there and gawp,
Don't fill your mind with dread,
Behold the days are coming,
When a bag of gold will buy some bread,
But then your redemption is near son,
Lift up your head,
No comments:
Post a Comment