A well thumbed book
A collection of beautiful stories
A wee thumbed crutch for you
Hope lays somewhere there
Hidden away behind the glory
Good will triumph
If then to win is good
Evil will be defeated
Unless that is if I or you
Or they instead
Have misunderstood
Or been once more misled
You did see the sunshine
You told me that you felt its warmth
But that it was not enough
Or maybe it was more than enough
For you to thank your god
And the virgin birth
For your certainty of deliverance
Prayed for with and for all your worth
My words are seen by very few people
But they do hold me free
In deep they are the inward
And outward beauty for me
They speak of the gift of breath
Without the need of steeples
They wreck the wrath of death
My freedom is frail
Perhaps you might say even feeble
These though are my words
Intrinsically a part of me; my way
I hope you are so fortunate
For now I have to go, so I say good day
