The Priest
I'm Peter Vanderhoelt, I'm 68 years old
My doubts and questions have increased
In forty- two years of being a priest
I'm at the end of my life
I'm not sure if I'm gonna survive
I often don't know what to say
When I talk to Him, when I pray
In reply I receive only silence, no relief
I've waited in vain for a little advice
From that great voice in the ethereal skies
Once I was a revolutionary
A devoted mercenary
A gifted student in God's hands
Now I'm old, and sick of his demands
I tried to be honest and good
Did my job the best I could
But I always stayed that average man
Right in the spot where I began
During the grief with which I've dealt
It's been three decades since I've felt
The certainty I so adored
About the existence of the Lord
(refrein)
I've seen enough, that's why I know
God left this pleace a long long time ago
I've given to my parish
Things I don't have myself, but cherish
Namely love and charity
Mostly purpose, that's what sets you free
So I'm where the metaphors
Are not comforting anymore
I think I'm almost done with my search
Got old so fast here in my church
It feels as I'm kept out
Of some sort of secret about
The meaning of life
Sometimes I can't fail to notice
These are medioere times
refrein x2
Time has made me good at one thing
And horrible at everything else
The blessings of the world divine
Were always elsewhere, were never mine
OH I would like to hold someone
Briefly, maybe have some fun
But my body's oddly designed
So I'm not really the hugging kind
Not once has there been
Someone with a softer skin
Who reached out for me
In the middle of the night
Across my old lumpy mattress
When I turn on the light
I think I've been miscast
The time of saints is past
My faith is weak, last but not least
After forty-two years of being a priest
The church is like a woman
A thing out of reach, like a vision
She glimmers in teh distance
To which I could never quite get
Now I am left here with my regret
refrein x4
It's my portion, it's my cup
It's my portion, it's my cup
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