I'm not climbing to higher ground;
it's holy enough where I stand
It's my fault I planted the wrong seeds;
scattered about by my own hand

The spirit hovers over silent waters;
it's life unconcerned about my fulfillment
Desert sands burn my swollen feet;
my pain has become my sacrament

Don't weep for me
Don't sing for me
I'm not a martyr
My life is my burden
And yours my blessing

Have I humbled myself too late;
a story already written enough for dust,
settling on the bounded spine of memories
Where regret blooms and pride can only rust

I pray for my friends
I pray for their children
what else can I do?
what else?
what else?

Don't weep for me
Don't sing for me
I am not a prophet
My life has been chosen
And yours keeps me guessing

I pray for you my love
I pray for you my love
what else can I do?
what else?
what else?