Hail deliverer, here I am.
Weave a wicker basket, not a wicker man
Then draw me forth to pass over
The snap and hiss of knives in hand.
Because I am who I am and nothing more
I dug a grave with my own hands
To hide a whip and cruel thoughts
I left my God behind.
But I long to leave this in my past
And burn old laws in desert heat
To sink my soles in scalding sand
And stumble far on burning feet.
Because I am who I am; nothing more
And there is no place for sandals here
A burning vision came at night;
That vision called on me.
Hail deliverer, here I am!
Go and call; speak and free!
Drop the staff and strike the breast!
River to wine, bread to feed!
Ten chimes through a hurried meal
We grab our cloaks and go and steal.
I am who I am! I will unchain!
Hail deliverer! Borne in reeds!
The sand is loose between my toes
Yet fear will not pass over me
Though burning lights guide our way
The path’s not always clear to see.
For doubt still daily plagues my thoughts
Like chariots that I must flee
A task to do; these words to speak;
A burden which weighs heavily.
I have looked back through desert heat
And here I am, down on my knees.
Hail deliverer, now I pray:
Open my eyes so I may see
The sacred flame that I once saw
And hear the voice that guided me.
Split the waters that blind my sight
So I can know all I can be
Unweave the wicker man I am
Like your people, set me free.