Rejoice

To the blood thirsty prophet, Begging through his teeth and to the very essence of the Holy ghost, To the envy in the offering handed from seat to seat To the dream over the horizon, where there is no coast to coast... Where they rub on all the shoulders of those with aching feet, And serve only bread and wine to those who wanted toast. I ask, Do your birds ever chirp? and do they sore the summer breeze? And does the weather ever change? Does your sun shine over the hills, beyond the branches of the trees? And doesn't this dreadful shade seem strange? Well, My birds...?, they sore as high as the sky allows, and yes the weather here is strange But my sun is ever breaking through clouds on this vast, abundant range. I seek no certain answer, and I will ask no reasons why, and as for all my prayers unanswered, Well "hallelujah by and by"