the river rushing by
we stand in a pool by its side
the water whirls
wanting back out to the river
the choir
stands in the shade
the only tree for miles
breaks the sun for them
as they howl their praises
of god and his blessedness
for saving poor sinners like us
and the preacher
in the water with us sinners
prays and prays
and I worry
that when it comes my turn
the choir ever finishes yowling
and the preacher ever finishes praying
that god won't let him baptize me
'cause he heard me cursing
when I stepped on the sharp rock
'cause he knows I hate the cold
of the water flowing
'cause he knows I'm watching
the choir robe press and flash
around Betty Warner
'cause he knows I'm only doing this
'causa what she almost promised after
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