the first thing i'll do when i get home is
stick my feet in boulder creek
'cause he's led me beside stagnate waters
and grass that's greener lingered on the other side
the first thing i'll say when i arrive is
'where is the salsa?'
and 'pass the chips'
but the Lord is my shepherd
so what i want i shouldn't
where i've been i wasn't
and what i've done i haven't
he's restored my preoccupation with the metaphysical
and dogmatically directs my political affiliations for his name's sake
yea, though i may
sleep all day
- my mind might slip -
and my clothes could fray,
i will fear no evil
for night is coming
and, at night,
we shine
your rod and your staff, they
batter my ignorance of pastoral metaphor
the deepest dark is all around, about,
inside...
but i don't need a Shepherd
i won't be wanting living all alone
'cause i really only wanted to be home
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