Somedays I am Abraham
Others I am Isaac on the mountain
Another the stone which rejoices in blood.
But never the Angel which calls stay,

And in this empty church, I Praise
And in this empty hall, I love
Remembering that though April may be holy
She still rains more the not.

And I am trying to find God,
Which I suppose means trying to stay alive,
To keep this weary heart beating
To build a home out of this ruin.

And though these hands may shake
I offer them to you if you choose
To take them and if not, my shaky
Hands will forget they once longed for you.