Brother Thomas, did you walk away from Jesus wondering if it was all a dream?
Did all your doubts creep back and tell you that your fingers hadn’t ever touched a single thing?
Cause I have read that story so many times where you healed that man and he could see perfectly again
But in between it reads that all he saw were men as trees, and that’s all that seems to cloud my vision

Cause all the friends I have have never ever ever met you
Does that mean that they deserve to die?
But I heard once that you came here as love for all of us
And not to pull the wood from out of our eyes

My mother, she was always working in the yard growing life from your sun and from her dirt
So I would read those words but nothing ever seemed to grow except my lonely brother’s hurt
Oh holy preacher, did you ever think that maybe there was more to life than dying in a pew?
Isn’t this whole world just hell enough for all of us, do you have to murder them for all the things they do

Cause all the friends I know have never ever heard you speak and I know when you speak it brings up life
So would you, pretty please, come speak to all of them and me, growing us collectively into your wife
Lead me to the mountain, write it out on those stone tablets what it is that you decide’s the truth
But I think I want my hands to bleed from loving, not from condemning
Isn’t love what he would have us do?

All my friends and I, we have stolen, we have lied, and we have looked upon each other full of lust
But you carried your cross when it seemed that I was lost, so I know that you could carry all of us