I just can't think.
Thinking never was a good point of mine,
Thinking takes time, and time is precious,
Thinking can drain the soul of life.

Scholars think, and hope to be quoted,
Foolish men who think they're wise,
And what about our heroes,
Lucky for us, and them,
That they did not have time to think.

Thinking causes all kinds of ailments,
Like rules, regulations, and penalties of such,
I tried to sit and think one day,
And a man said "get of my grass."

Presidents think, and so do their generals,
Perhaps they think "I'm bored, lets have a war,"
Perhaps they think too much,
And think they know what I'm thinking.

I'm not saying that thinking is bad,
1 just can't think,
Perhaps I like to sit and not think better than 1 like to
sit and think,
What do you think?

Crippled child, crippled man,
crippled lame man,
who could ask more of me than God,
who broke me, before I even came.
and so, gnarled little stump of a boy,
who only felt shame,
he who could have known love,
felt only shame.
How could this happen
It wasn't supposed to be that way,
brave little boy though,
held his head high,
and walked forward,
but who could know the fear he felt,
terrified, he took the next step,
and at every turn, the looks,
laughter and jeers sounded beyond the senses,
How it felt, horrible,
but still the head held high,
such strength and valour,
oh, beautiful child
I am here now,
I am the light in the darkness,
and I can see,
you have returned to me,
and what can a father say,
except forgive me
even a God will cry, at times....

The lights too quickly faded from my life,
As though time finally stopped trying to
keep me alive,
The doctors came today, and quoted, nearly sadly,
That 1 hadn't any longer to live.

That was all, though they said they were very sorry,
If only they had known a little sooner,
What miracle could pour forth from their already
over extended minds.

So this is it, one day sitting on a cloud,
The next, counting each day on a prayer,
And everybody is kindly quiet around me,
As though noise would hasten my demise.

What of my Creator, is it really true,
That 1 could just go without a wish,
Drawn back to where 1 began,
Without even a sign to point the way.

I guess I had better be brave,
So that the ones I love will cope;
But silence is almost like a trap,
A death knell,
A voiceless, silent death.