Woe, woe, oh to the slow.
Watch the water, but let him go.
He’s a beginning, a way to be all.
But he’s got to wait for the final call.
Hold up a hand, help him inside.
There’s nothing left, no one to hide.
What?! When?! Where do I run?
There’s nothing there, but the damage is done.
You could be wrong. You could be right.
You could be a rebellious fight.
Someone help – my baby’s falling.
I came to him – his final calling.
He came to the end. He came to the place.
I could show you his mark, but I forgot his face.
Written by Gail Brookshire