Hill up the road, gathering thoughts never adding the way I want them

Sweet Jesus show me through the Indian paintbrush

Faith was 



Cursed upon me, a mustard seed was good enough for him and good enough to me



Or after all, will I shake my magic 8 ball, it's bubbling

And the brisk walking heartbeat won't tire me, it keeps me strong

Faith was 



Cursed upon me, a mustard seed was good enough for him and its good enough to me

Pillar of salt, shaker of black

Killer of thought, turning my back

Believe you were wrong and said they would laugh and I'm trying to be humble about it



I like the rain, I like going against the grain

Seems to me I'm cutting out a simple pattern



---she was weak---



Hill up the road, watching my thoughts chase each other

Sweet Jesus show me the faith cursed upon me



--she walked away--