Finishing touches being put up upon me, One stroke, two lights, and on the count of three, The clock will strike, and I will be set free. Far from perfect that’s what describes me, Withering and crying out Domine. Oh, he answers and that’s all I could ask, Because when time is out, I’ll be with him and last. That’s the promise I’ve been given at least, I held onto it going daily to bed in peace, I have nothing else, but the words from above, I could never really settle for better luck. For my fortune is vain, In a very practical way. So I set my sights on Heaven, not vanity. Come pray, prey, pray…