Maybe there's no saving you anymore

        Maybe those beads are as phony 

               as a three dollar bill 

                    Your caretaker, his name is Emmanuel,

                          He takes your tray. 

                     While the wind whips 

                     Frantic whisps of my hair

                         And open goes the door 

                           I feel so alive

                                 this moment I am

                                                         God.

But a god that can't save

      And can't seem to speak.

               At least you can see this one

               And feel this warm hand in yours.