Land of My Sojourn

The coal trucks came down this road that lies open like the soul of a woman, who hid the spies, who were looking for the land of the milk and the honey. And this road, she is a woman. She was made from a rib cut from the sides of these mountains. These great sleeping Adams who are lonely even here in paradise, lonely for somebody to kiss them.

And I'll sing my song. And I'll sing my song in the land of my sojourn. And the lady in the harbor, she still holds her torch out to those huddled masses who are yearning for a freedom that still eludes them.

There must be something more than this. It has been tugging at my heart of late. I think all the rest, all the sitting, waiting and wishing ought to be over. A voice is calling me to somewhere else, but I am still searching deep down, wondering if it really is You calling out to me.

Nobody tells you when you get born here, how much you'll come to love it and how you'll never belong here.