ashes to ashes, dust to dust

Ask The Dust

Ask the dust why weep this life
As we crawl toward death
Where we will wed

Our beginning to our end.

Born to the same pure waters
As Jean Baptiste waded to the waist,
Bound by the same mortal blood
A carpenter wept across a cross.

Hanging beneath this tree stand pulpit
Towering over man-made martyrdom,
Eden still surrounds an infidel
In this church not made with hands.

So bury my tears along with my body

Beneath tenderfoot apostles' feet,

Walking woods in search of answers
Never thinking to ask the dust.