Voices

Voices

I’m hearing voices
They’re frightened, they’re scared
I look around
There’s nobody there
Some are loud, some are hushed
Most are filled with despair
People are hiding, they’re staying at home
Though things seem much worse when you’re there all alone

The voices keep coming, though I never dream
I started to wonder just what it might mean
I thought and I thought, and I prayed just a bit
For guidance, for wisdom, to make sense of this
The meaning seems clear now, as clear as a bell
The voices are people who aren’t doing well
They’re poor and they’re hungry, they’re cold and alone
They’re looking to find a true place of their own

These past few months, they’ve started to ponder
If America’s path is starting to wander
Away from its place as the land of the free
Have evil and hate spread, sea to shining sea?
Is this who we are, who we’ve become?
Half of us say so, half of us want none
None of the hatred, none of the attacks
None of the worry ‘bout who’s got our backs
None of the gunshots, none of the death
None of the anger, none of the rest
Of the ugly, disgusting vitriolic words
That recently all of us have frequently heard

We must make our way back to faith, love, empathy
Towards each single person in God’s family
For those of you who are a bit slow
That’s every person, just so you know
There are no exceptions, there are no exclusions
Take it from me, it’s my humble conclusion

That everyone is a child of God
It only makes sense, it’s really not odd
Everyone! All! The entirety
Of each person who’s lived, throughout eternity!

I’m hearing voices, so many hurting voices…

Copyright February 1, 2026. John Lage, Jr. All rights reserved.

This morning, Ralph Schornack’s moving piano prelude started the flood that became the words above. His music was awesome. The service can be viewed at Sunday, February 1, 2026 Joint 10 AM Service at CUMC if you’d like to hear Ralph’s prelude or the entire service. I’m likely going to watch it myself as my attention was focused on writing this song.

Listen to my
🔉🔉Recording🔉🔉
of this. (Currently a poetry reading)

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