Waiting for my Day

Mothers and children all around on a Monday morning,
The air is cool and clear.
I am too alone to be part of this suburban scene.
I am just an observer here.

I'm sitting here thinking, "Is this my inheritance?"
This dusty gypsy atmosphere,
This dust I'm breathing in is someone else's skin, not mine.
I grew up far from here.

Today I answered some primal call.
Found myself looking at the sea.
I can never get enough of this big ocean loud and rough
With the sighing sifting melody.

Right here is beauty like I have never known,
And I'm carefully placed here, not some cast away,
But I'm weary and aching for my home,
And I'm waiting for my day.

Longing in starlight,
I'm too stricken to move, too impatient to sit,
At the same time strong and weak.
I am loved enough to be part of this eternal scene.
Thus I am bold enough to speak.

And I say, "I used to read the Bible saying,
'This I know, this I know, this I no longer know,
This I no longer really care.'"
What's that matter anyway, that was yesterday.
Tonight I have belief to spare.
So much belief that I get scared, yeah.

Right here is beauty like I have never known,
And I'm carefully placed here, not some cast away,
But I'm weary and aching for my home,
And I'm waiting for my day.

--Jason Harrod