|
each day I follow my vocation |
|
a silent matter of course |
|
I watch the headlines over coffee |
|
searching for excuses |
|
though we may be the ones who are able to give |
|
to be given is our sorrow |
|
and we clean up the stairs in front of our house |
|
pretending not to hear |
|
I will be waiting for the day we rearrange our view of sharing |
|
it is time to make amends |
|
oh, were all cynics that - broken-hearted - |
|
want to be so different |
|
merely bathing in our holy silence |
|
that casts a lonely shadow |
|
now youre feeling ashamed, want to get yourself cleaned |
|
but its hard to find distraction |
|
desperations a trap thats getting you down |
|
...that wasnt my design |
|
I will be waiting for the day we rearrange our view of sharing |
|
it is time to make amends |
|
my vocation, silent matter, |
|
to be given, Ill be waiting |
|
rearranging, to be different, |
|
merely bathing, find distraction |
|
now youre feeling ashamed, want to get yourself cleaned |
|
but its hard to find distraction |
|
and we clean up the stairs in front of our house |
|
pretending not to hear |
|
I will be waiting for the day we rearrange our view of sharing |
|
it is time to make amends... |
