When did I forget how to sing the songs of my soul,

to treasure my lyrics and the price I paid to sing them?

Why would I trade my call for a blanket,

and my gifts for soup?

How long will I sing this song?

The song of a dreamer, but not a doer.

I want to belt out new tunes,

of victory and triumph and praise.

It’s time I moved on, off into the working man’s delight,

and the obscurity of the grind.