Trickle, Trickle

Trickle, trickle how am I fickle
How did I ever end up in this pickle
No lesser lessons have I learned
Then those beside the fires burned

Less I be to tired to sleep
I pray to the lord, my soul to keep

Weeping willows beside the brook
And yet I stare with such a gentle look
Babylon be the burdened ways
By which we live our lives this day

Out stretched I lay my hand open
A humble shadow of a broken man
Is there any sense within your plan
I am barren fruit upon this land

And here I am and there you stand
Scorched upon the fertile land

There is the hope you’ll understand
For I am no less then a broken man
That walks along these lonely sands