Can Death Come Calling If You Don'T Have A Telephone?
The sky opens up before your eye
And the rain comes pouring from the sky.
There's an old tree tap-tap-tapping on the door;
It's that tap-tap-tapping you abhor.
The faucet's drip-drip-dripping in a sink that's never clean
When the landlord's knock-knock-knocking on a door without a screen.
The television's crack-crack-crackling because the picture's never clear;
There's the Bible on a table that'll soon break down, you fear.
The mattress creak-creak-creaking as you shift in bed at night
Beside an old and grimy window never showing any light.
Day in, day out, you sit beside a fire with no heat;
Chopping wood with those old arms would be quite a feat.
The ceiling beams are wormy, and eaten up with time,
But they just may be strong enough to hold a woven line.
Loft it up and over, yes, and tie it good and tight.
You won't be sleeping in this hell-hole by tomorrow night.
A rickety chair beneath you may not hold up long enough
To slip the cord over your head and feel its texture, rough
Against your skin; tightening it slowly as you pray,
'Dear Lord, may you guide me to a new and better day.'