Occasional Holy Man, Indifferent Bassist, Expelled Philosopher, and Maladroit Luthier Who Offers Stray, Provocative, and Insouciant Thoughts about Religion, Archaeology, Human Foible, Surfing, Interesting People, and Quirky Music. "Sent down" from Oxford. [Also, "alot" is not a word.]
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Be ye our angel unawares If after Kirk ye bide a wee, There's some would like to speak to ye, If after Kirk ye rise and flee We' all seem cauld and still to ye. The one that's in the seat with ye Is stranger here than ye, maybe. All here have got their fears and cares, Add ye your soul unto our prayers, Be ye our angel unawares.