Small Things from Bone Tower by Thomas Krane

I asked the god of small things
For an open parking space
He put me in a cleft of rock
and wouldn't let me see his face.

I asked the god of small things
For a portion of his grace
A golden calf, a grumbling heart
Were nothing in its place.

I asked the god of small things
For a sunny wedding day
He summoned water from a rock
and turned her feet to clay.

I asked the god of small things
For the words I couldn't say
Out from my mouth came 7 plagues
And we were on our way.

I asked the god of small things
For a place to lay my head
For 40 years the desert sand
Was where I made my bed.

I asked the god of small things
for the subtext to his plan
But he's the god of small things
And I am just a man.

This ain't no promised land, my friend,
This ain't no promised land.
Take what you can with both your hands
And move back out into the sand.

You make your wine from water -
I can't compete with that!
You collect and sell your manna bread -
I deal with real overheads!

This ain't no promised land, my friend,
This ain't no promised land.
Take what you can with both your hands
And move back out into the sand.

• Rock
• calvinism
• roots
• Johannesburg