Oh worry me, Oh worry me!

Pacing and Tracing his steps each day,
The world entwines and encaptures him.
"Where should I go and what shall I do,
Oh worry me, Oh worry me."

He goes to the village to buy some bread
but he falls to the ground and hurts his head.
"I shall die this day in this dreadful way,
Oh worry me, Oh worry me."

The thorns surround and cast their doubts
That someone would come to help him out
Of the torture entangling his feet and his way,
Cutting his hope and slaying his peace.

"Oh worry me, Oh worry me,"
He cries to the north and the south each day.
"Where shall I turn and where shall I go
To whom shall I speak, I do not know."

He spends his days pining for days gone by,
Worrying that today - he might die.
Regrets and sorrows held tight to his chest,
He fades away quietly - let all him forget.

He could have found freedom, peace and rest,
Had only released he, his soul from the pain,
And given to Jesus his sorrowful tears,
And trusted to Jesus, his heart all the years.

(©Brian Smith 5/22/05)