I went down to the battlefield and found I only had a trumpet in my hand. / A tiny joke, I thought at first, but now I know that it could be what you had planned. / But if you don’t need anything / Why would you ask for help from me again?
I need a sign, a rock on fire, a jar of wine, some sort of fleece to keep inside my head. / ‘Cuz I’m unsure and will be until I learn the proper way to raise the dead. / But if you can’t bring anything / Would you take this cup from me again?
There’s a peace in four long years, a decade each, that seems to be what you had planned / Where you could take this mess of arteries and veins and turn it all into a man. / And I know you don’t need anything / But could you please just speak through me again?
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