When I was young I asked to be
A spear in the hand of the Lord
And if I couldn’t be a spear
I asked that I would be His sword.
I’m older now and I have seen
Exactly what a spear can do
And what becomes of those live
By the swords they say are You.
So make of me a warm wet rag
To wipe the blood and shit away
And make of me a tourniquet
To keep the rush of death at bay.
If I must tear my brother’s flesh
If I must make my sister bleed
Make me a needle in your hand
When You the surgeon intercede.