Old Dry Bones

In the Book of Truth

it was written, oh so long ago;

Of the broken and meek; 

that from hunger and thirst, righteousness shall flow.  

The poor lowly spirits sunken into the earth 

rapt in worms below.

They feed you handfuls of ash of dirt 

while they stuff in the last of the season's sweet potato. 

They say, "Can I borrow a rib?"

But they don't have ears to hear your, "NO!"

So they steal and they sew, and they steal and they sew

until you're a clanking pile of old dry bones. 

In the mist of the morning they rise from the earth

to massage their tummies with dew.

But little do they know, oh little do they know...

who waits for them to show;

NONE BUT THE BIG BLACK CROW.

Thereafter a thundering voice came 

that shook your pile of bones, 

and they tumbled down with a clinkity-clank

like the ancient walls of Jericho. 

The Thunder exhaled a wild wind 

that swept up the dry, dry bones.

To and fro and to and fro 

you danced to life on your tippy toes,

the very tip of your toes.

"O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord...I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live...flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live, and you shall know that I am the Lord.”