Around my heart with anger, I built a hardened shell; And planted thorns of bitterness to further guard it well. Then sat in smug depression as the persons passing by, Unable to ever reach me, no longer stopped to try.
The drought was getting serious, The situation bleak, And for the want of sustenance The village was getting weak. And the thing that was most needed, On the hot and thirsty plain, Was a life sustaining downpour— A good old-fashioned rain.
A teenage boy treads alone, a road that’s dusty, dry; The cigarette in his hand, glows against the starry sky. And in this place his soul is stirred by heaven’s holy hand, And he wonders if there is a God and what He might have planned.
There’s a tale of a mother who lived in a shoe, When faced with a challenge knew not what to do. So the family had dinner without any bread— Then she spanked all her children and sent them to bed! Why we rehearse this nobody knows, So let’s faithen the story and see how it goes. . . .