I thought this kinda creepy poem would make a good post on Friday the 13th, but, quite frankly, I don’t know that I’ll still be here then.
I had a dream, no Jacob’s ladder for me
No, no angels in heaven that I could see
I really want to be
If I really can
Nearer my God to thee
Nearer to His hands
He knows my name, He can look up the number
Talk to me direct, no distractions, no slumber
Nearer my God to thee
Nearer to His hands
I really want to be
If I really can
I’m waiting, I’m waiting to hear
Scrambled eggs but no toast today
O Lord, where, where is it near?
Speak to me, let me know the way
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