Selah, lah, lah, lah, lah, lah
The Lord is mine, shepherd and word,
divine, I shall not rot.
He bleedeth me inside and the leaden
waters besides which have fled.
I will shear no evil. You plod
and you laugh to comfort me.
You prepare a label to bore me
in the presence of mines, beloved empathy.
You surround me with harp and with lyre,
keep away the barbed liars
all my days, all the shadowed grays
of my slow, grazing life.
And I will chew on the grass,
alas, the Almighty's grass,
on the lawn of the Lord, or never. Again.
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