Honey when I’m sleeping
I can be miles away from you
I am just an inch away
Living in another country
I could be living in a castle
And in solitude away
I might be happy
Or simply not sad
So please don’t wake me up
For I am in another world
Just inches away from you
And I could be miles away
I must have been 11 or 12 years old I think when I saw this image in the sky for a split second on my way to school and they said I was one penny short for a pound ‘up there in my piggy bank’ when I told my friends at school that day. Later in life I discovered that is was an F-117A Nighthawk when I saw a documentary on Discovery a few years ago. So there, I wasn’t barmy after all and there are no UFO’s.
We have heard it all so many times
The songs, that sing of joy
The stories that were told to us
About this baby boy
Do you believe that long ago
The Christ was born …
So listen, let me tell you this
This Christ was born for you!
Please open up your heart for Him
And let His love come through
Yes listen, let me tell you this
The Christ was born for you!
So open up your heart for Him
And let the light shine through
Your words are thorns of hate that sting,
And never once they speak of Love.
You hurt me with deceitful words,
Compassion ain’t your thing.
You’re King of Gossip, Prince of Pain,
The fruit of hate that is all you want.
You roam a dark world far from God,
The fruit of hate is all you gain.
Today I heard how far you went,
To whom you told your lies.
I traced the story that you spread,
From where it started to the end.
You’re King of Gossip, Prince of Pain,
The fruit of hate that is all you want.
You roam a dark world far from God,
The fruit of hate is all you gain.
Your lying whispers gossip, go on then: Yes! O tell her too. At parties, on the street and in our church. The whispers, gossips, telling tales, the lies, you hurt me and you hate the ones I care for too.
You’re King of Gossip, Prince of Pain.
I have this friend, this heart of mine
He likes to drum, to kill some time
Unfortunately, and also very sadly
He plays the Bongo really badly
Some time ago I asked a complete stranger to take a picture for me of a place where I once lived and had a very good time.
In 1989 I came to live in Old Hall, Little Plumstead Hospital. I made friends there that I haven’t forgotten and I never will. I lived and worked there, grew up, learned, loved and was loved.
Sing for me my daughter for I cannot sing no more
Sing and praise the Lord for me, my voice is weak
Sing for me because my strength is gone
Sing for me and you to Him who loves us both
Sing as if there was nothing else to do
Sing with all the power you have within you, your heart and voice
Sing Him praise, pray, beg, cry, rejoice
Sing to thank Him, love Him give your life to Him
Little Lord Fauntleroy, getting reacquainted with the most beautiful book of my childhood.
Once, when I was 6 or 7 years old, I read Little Lord Fauntleroy, a book written by Frances Hodgson Burnett. And when I finished it I read it again … and again. And I never forgot. It was my first book with people from the grown ups world, where people could be mean. And then there was this little boy, capable of making these mean people nice and happy again. It fired my imagination to leave your own trusted surroundings and take a boat across the sea, no land around you and surrendered to God’s mercy and to go to a country and live in a castle.
Once there was a singer
Who lived to Praise the Lord
And while he kept on singing
No bread he could afford
They loved his songs
We heard them all
They played so many
Winter, Spring or Fall
While all enjoyed the singing
He still had nowt to eat
His songs fed Faith to many
He craved for bread or meat
And still he kept on singing
For Praise his only want
They spread the songs he’d offered
There was a large demand
If only I could earn a living
Is what the singer thought
And with winter now a coming
A warm coat must be bought
They loved his songs
We heard them all
They played so many
Winter, Spring or Fall
But still he kept on singing, for Praise is all he want …
