I just
lost my finger
and I dropped my
hammer down.
I pour
out on
this poor ladder
and my work boots
can’t be found.
I feel (pause)(pause)
held back (You don’t have to understand)
and frustrated, (Papa will turn things for good)
insecure and (For daughters sons sakes)
I’m annoyed. (For Papa is love)
All my
bubbles (Papa will not give a stone)
have been bursted (When we ask for bread)
and I’m left with (We have nothing to fear)
shoulders bruised. (Papa is love)
Work is
robbing (You don’t have to understand)
me of living, (Papa will turn things for good)
they were right a- (For daughters sons sakes)
bout my dreams (For Papa is love)
My debts
building (Papa will not give a stone)
while I stand here, (When we ask for bread)
should this even (We have nothing to fear)
be a song? (For Papa is love)
Songs are
either
written in fields
or on couches
which way’s best?
Oh I
now see
there is freedom
in the working
with your hands.
I’ve read
«justice
is the measure,
righteousness the
the plumbline.»
When I
finally
have my hammers
and then they are
sitting still
I’ll still have con-
struction humor
it is set in
this ol' stone
So when
will I
finish this job
and move on to
what I love
You know
I feel
oh so ready
I’ll get up now
it is good.