I come to it late in life:
A renouncement to the road. But I have travelled before. I have lived on faith And thrived, Trived, that is, In the poverty way one thrives. But now I prepare to make it my profession. And I discover that it is just as much work as anything else. And to do it right, I must throw myself all in. And trust that God will provide. Nonetheless, at the end of the day, it is a job. And I embrace the work.
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I am nothing.
And I never thought It would sound so sweet. Nothing now but to lay it down, Nothing now but to lay it down. How many times can a man die? A few, it seems. And the master wields the knife, The master wields the knife. How many times can this man die? Again it seems. Again it seems. And the master wields the knife, Not long now. Oh, not long now. But the master wields the knife. I lay it down. And it matters not Because the master wields the knife. I never thought it could sound so sweet But with empty hands and naked feet I approach on hallowed ground And bear my tender flesh For the end, it seems, Is coming ‘round. And I never thought That it could be this way, but it is. |
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