Mother of My Son/I love you (x3)/Mother of My Son/Let the body down into the arms of Mary/Father, hesitate let the Passion wait/Let us stay here, just for a while ‘Til the blood has dried upon the hands of Mary/Mother, hold your son/Nothing more you could have done Let us wait here, just for a while As the crowd thins out; the guard stands down/The priests walk slowly back to town Of all these lives, all these souls/It is I whom the angel told I love you (x3)/Mother of My Son Let the serpent lie beneath the feet of Mary/Let it be his death/The Son will rise again Let us wait here, just for a while And let the heresies fly around the head of Mary/Let the devil take his due/He’ll be nothing after you Let us wait here, just for a while Soon enough we’ll take up our beds/And head back to Jerusalem To tell them what thisSavior did/Tell them what the Father said: I love you (x3)/Mother of My Son

God's Little Fool Circling 'round the temple walls, tip-toeing rocky ground/Searching for the open door, that's nowhere to be found/I've scratched and studied every stone, for the secet to getting in/But eyes and ears and fingertips, have failed me once again/I left my home and my family, a thousand miles behind/to make this holy pilgrimage, and I got here right on time/ Got here on the highest day, expecting a great big crowd/ Got here at the crack of dawn, not another soul around/And I waited ever patiently, to be the first in line/Waited what seemed eternity, now the sun has crossed the sky/Hey there Mr. Watchman, up on your wall so high/Tell me please when the temple priest and his little band goes by/Tell me please when the temple priest and his little band goes by/He looked at me without a word, no gesture did he make/Just turned around and disappeared, his closing rounds to make/I'm going back to Biwabik, to my wife and my working tools/I left there a little bit of a bigshot, going back a fool/Someone else will have to be bigshot, I'm just God's little fool/someone else will always be bigshot, I remain God's little fool.

Your Gaze I feel your gaze upon my face/ feel your gaze upon my face/ I do not stand in line nor lower my head/ for just a sip of wine or a bit of bread/ I know it's real/ you are in this place/ I feel your gaze upon my face/ We have come to Capernaum wanting bread/ covered up with dust, as good as dead/ wondering what's real, is it magic, is it grace? I feel your gaze upon my face/ As I might feel gravity/ or falling water drawing me/ beyond the symbol of the meal/ I know the food is real/ and we have come to Capernaum wanting bread/ but Joseph's boy would have us eating flesh/ This can't be real but as I turn away/ I feel your gaze upon my face And I do no stand in line nor bow my head/ for just a sip of wine or a bit of bread/ I know it's real and cannot be replaced/ I feel your gaze upon my face