Jesus tells me

Running a finger around his thumb
Jesus told me tomorrow would come
And a lonesome lawyer with a reed thin smile
Would follow my footsteps from the river Nile.
He’d be tossing his stones between my feet
Telling me never to trumpet retreat.
But what could I do about the 12 mad men
Who covered my eyes with their hands and then
Ran from the garden with an apple tree
Upsetting the cart which would set them free?
And you’ve probably heard this story before
About the smallest boy who dressed for war
And with a single well-aimed timely shot
Scattered an army before it had fought.
Locusts and plagues came in on their knees
Looking for temples to challenge and seize
Then finding a story that couldn’t be told
They started their mission to eat all the gold
While telling that tale it’s usually spun
Their kindest words are often undone
So what is left is fresh stark and bare,
Hardly a heart is still settled there .
But strongly some search for Paradise
Where the easy land is free of ice
And the western winds are glad to blow
On a nearing horizon where soulful men go.