The world is turning clockwise,
and the ticking doesn't stop.
The rigid hands, like marching bands,
move forward round the clock.
And desperate backward snatches,
yield nothing in my grasp.
The rolling hearse has no reverse,
that bears away the past.
I'd like to live them over,
those sets of circumstance
When, called to rise and mobilize,
I left it all to chance.
I'd like to seize and salvage,
quick words that I have said,
And in their place, to have the grace,
for kinder ones instead.
The aura of the moment
I failed ...
He told me if I didn't have a sword
That I should sell my garment and go buy one
I did so, in obedience to my Lord
And I felt better with a weapon to rely on
And then they tried to take my Lord away
I gamely shook my shame and fear off
Stepped forward, drawing out my blade
I cut a soldiers ear off
I swelled with smug, aggressive pride