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--