I woke up this mornin' feelin' like I couldn't lose.
Yes, I woke up this mornin' feelin' like I just couldn't lose.
I got outta bed and put on my blue suede shoes.

I ate me some breakfast, and I read me some Langston Hughes.
I ate me a good breakfast, and I read me some Langston Hughes.
An' I'm done readin' a lot of fake-*** mockin'bird news.

I'll probly find 'em tomorrow swimmin' in my *****.
O Lord, I'll probly find 'em tomorrow swimmin' in my *****.
But, thank you, Lord Jesus, today I done lost my blues.

Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited,
Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I
Has willed and meted me the tears I've shed,
I clench my fist and shake it at the sky

And at the vengeful God who hammers me,
Delivering the blows that break my brain;
The God who finds his deepest ecstasy
In violencing my life with blinding pain;

Who laughs and says, "Thou suffering thing, declare
If thou hast understanding: Who hath laid
The measures of the earth's foundations?  Where
O where wast thou, O man, whenas I made
The cloud the garment of the sea?  How dare
Thou, foolish man, thy maker to upbraid?"

O Lord, I am thy workmanship;
     And shall the *** of clay
     Unto the potter say,
Dash me to dust, for I've a chip?
                              Nay.

Perhaps the potter uses scraps
     For purposes the ***
     Would likely like a lot
If he but knew.  Perhaps.  Perhaps
                              Not.

Material lips; sewing on a seamless smile;
A shrouded piece of wool- for one wearing
The jersey of youth, as time slowly pulls at the thread
While I lock away my shadow of the writhing darkness,
Trailing behind me in the day; as I once tried speaking
To my void, but the emptiness obeyed not a single word

A tap tap at my window- the eyes to a soul, painted wholly
In the colours of divorce; as the separation of dreams
From one’s imagination. All, all was so dark; slandered
By such a terrorizing world- until I opened to let him in;
As a child with a curious thought, soon questioning, and
To study- for my lips to utter:

I cannot live out this life,
Without letting You, O Lord in.

Echo, tell me: Which men have fallen the Fall?        All.

And what is God, who's all in all, all of?        Love.

What should I place within the beggar's palms?        Alms.  

God made the feathers that makes the sparrow's flight        Light.

To sinners, how appear the ways of God?        Odd.

What has the Lord given to him who hears?        Ears.

What do they have who see through Satan's lies?        Eyes.

The saints who run to face the throne of grace        Race.

Who is the great-grandmother of the Truth?        Ruth.

From whom descended all the thin men of Haddam?        Adam.

Whom did the snake first practice to deceive?        Eve.

On her I place the burden of all the blame.        Lame.

What do I give the giver who gave the Law?        Awe.

I invented the electron multiplier.        Liar.

As I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to take
Ease my pain, for I am broken
Make still my thoughts
Toss out my dreams like the ash
Of a fire that died ages ago.

My will is gone
My strength is waning
I pray for sleep
But never waking.

Meet me beneath the olive-tre
I'th'garden of Gethsemane
Quhair Jesus pray'd.  Pray thou with me.

Twa corbies mak an hairie nest
Within the gardens wooden brest.
The Sunne is running tow'rd the west.

From off the tre the fruicte doth fall
Upon the firm fixt flatten'd ball
Of wormwood Earth whose seas are gall.

Of mortall sinnes quhairof thou art not guilty
Slanderous tongues do falsely thee accuse:
Their accusations lyke their tongues are filthy:
They doe their tongues by lying so abuse:
Their tonges they vse the foolish to confuse:
Their forked tongues cannot sincerely pray:
Forgive, forgett and hope they one day chuse
With honest tonges righte honest wordes to say.
For verie sooth thogh damnable are they
So aren't we all, and were it not for grace
We all to Tartarus woulde wend our way
Nor euer any sinner sie Gods face.
The truth hath thee exonerated ere
The uglie lie coulde ****, for truth is faire.

O graunt O God that when I do descryue
Lustrous Selene, Qheene of sable night,
Readers by reading sie the Qheene aliue
Shining with lighte as beautifull as bright.
God-giuen gifte of beautie is the sight
Of her who shineth like a falling starre
Maintaining still her place in heauens height
High up aboue whair heauens orbits are.
Aboue our heads so neare and yett so farre
Shineth the goddesse faire since auld lang syne.
The troubadours melodious repertoire
He doth performe within her siluer shine.
Romance doth quick the pvlse and pvll the tide:
The loue of God is giu'n unto his bride.