Hill up the road, gathering thoughts never adding the way I want them
Sweet Jesus show me through the Indian paintbrush
Faith was
Cursed upon me, a mustard seed was good enough for him and good enough to
me
Or after all, will I shake my magic 8 ball, it's bubbling
And the brisk walking heartbeat won't tire me, it keeps me strong
Faith was
Cursed upon me, a mustard seed was good enough for him and its good enough
to me
Pillar of salt, shaker of black
k**er of thought, turning my back
Believe you were wrong and said they would laugh and I'm trying to be humble
about it
I like the rain, I like going against the grain
Seems to me I'm cutting out a simple pattern
---she was weak---
Hill up the road, watching my thoughts chase each other
Sweet Jesus show me the faith cursed upon me
--she walked away--