I count the hours; you count the days.
Together, we count the minutes of this Passion Play.
Walk dusty miles, and I ride that train
On a first-class ticket, just to be with you again.

Picking up tired feet, back from a far horizon.
Cleaned up and brushed down, dressed to look the part.
Fresh from God's garden, I bring a gift of roses,
To stand in sweet spring water and press them to your heart.

Like the Kipling cat, I walk alone,
Never inviting trouble, never casting the stone,
But this badge of honour is of tarnished tin;
Light your guiding beacon to bring this fisher in.

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