To Be A Prophetess
God called you by a blessed name, Prophetess
Then wove Heaven into the palms of your hands.
As we floated down the river Nile
It was our lives you watched over
Our victories you prophesied and imagined into song
But, Prophetess, there will be those who despise you; the wrathful, the envious
Who crave to tear your holy linens from you
For your voice will rise as thunder amongst whispers of doubt and disbelief
and your flesh they will deem unworthy of your divine name
But they will not make kindling of your triumph, no.
For what is a grain of salt to a blaze?
They will curse, they will agonize, they will celebrate, they will praise
They will speak of everything but you
Until your life is a hymn no more.
Tell me, if miracles leave my lips, will they forget me too?