I have been living in these huts lately,
As this life seems aimless and desultory,
Slowly flowing like the splash of drops over the board,
Hallelujah . For me, it's still our God's handwritten story.

Two cents quietly sit in my little pockets ,
And they still fit perfectly in each,
Same as our feelings, as they huddle around our hearts,
Occupying the bijou portions and trying not to leach.

I will hold on till the day, staggering away,
In my tattered clothes, till the color withers and my story stales,
Lingering in the huts, with a hue of nostalgia,
Ailing but not wailing, after a series of massive fails.

Before God finishes writing my story,
I believe he will hand me the pen, its a fact, not a lie,
And with you by my side, I will scribble my glory,
I'll dress you your Gossamer, and myself a Suit and a tie.