These years now
The sun has beaten down
The burning road
By which I stand
In unproductive sand
And You come to me
Looking for fruit!
When I am a waste of space
So out of date and out of shape
What else could I expect
Except that You would cut me down?
Cut it off
The sinful hand
And wayward foot
Pluck it out
The lustful eye
And still
To my surprised relief
You wait another year
To give another chance
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