Prayers offered in times of peace are silent conversations. Appeals for love, or
love's release. In private invocations. But all that is changed now. Gone like a
memory from the day before the fires. People hungry for the voice of God hear
lunatics and liars. Wartime prayers. Wartime prayers. In every language spoken.
For every family scattered and broken.
Because you cannot walk with the holy if you're just a halfway decent man. I
don't pretend that I'm a mastermind with a genius martyrdom plan. I'm trying to
tap into some wisdom. Even a little drop will do. I want to rid my heart of envy,
and cleanse my soul of rage before I'm through.
Times are hard. It's a hard time, but everybody knows. All about hard times, the
thing is, what are you gonna do? Well, you cry and try to muscle through. Try to
rearrange your stuff. But when the wounds are deep enough, and it's all that we
can bear, we wrap ourselves. In prayer.
Because you cannot walk with the holy if you're just a halfway decent man, I
don't pretend that I'm a mastermind with a genius marketing plan. I'm trying to
tap into some wisdom. Even a little drop will do. I want to rid my heart of envy,
and cleanse my soul of rage before I'm through. A mother murmurs in twilight
sleep and draws her babies closer. With hush-a-byes for sleepy eyes, and kisses
on the shoulder. To drive away despair she says a wartime prayer.
