to each their own

his name was Jahve like the god
of his believing crew
so he was preaching from the mud
things he accepted true
and others trusted, others fell,
and others took him raw
a hobo man without his shell,
with core that they withdraw

don’t pick the trash from pavement, son,
not in this holy town
his grandmom said to anyone
before she taught to run
don’t put your hands behind your back,
‘cause you ain’t got to hide,
and treasure life in every crack,
and help instead of pride

his name was Jahve, so he said
before they tied his hands
between the living and the dead
he’s built a decent fence
too early, Jah, to join the crowd,
stand tall, my son, and still
i’m watching you behind the cloud,
i promised you i will