My people are a funny lot
Their preferences are weird
They like the comfort of this world
To which they are endeared
Through this they have forsaken Me
By digging stagnant wells
Devoid of living water
All because their soul rebels.
Perhaps they think that what they have
Is better than My all
How many warnings must I give
Before they finally fall
Be sure that through their measly lives
I cannot do My will
So I will search for those of you
Who through Me get their thrill.
