I Don't Think I'm Joan of Arc

I don’t think I’m Joan of Arc

Nothing of me has ever

Been that saintly

But just the same the voices

Come in like a wave at low tide

Maybe one of them is God

I don’t know how I’d even know.

Some of them ask if I have a minute

And are a bit politer than the rest.

Lately, I call upon the highest of angels

To help those souls lost and wandering

Into the heaven they have searched

Long and hard for.

The voices have all stopped, now

That I’ve started this begging prayer.

And I’m starting to wonder if I’m letting

God down by fearing the

dead and their pleas.

The one with cards told me

Archangel Michael wanted more

From me than just a prayer

And a job for him to finish

He wanted a personal relationship

So, I speak to him out loud at the time

Of night when I pray, and I ask him to meet

Me in my dreams and I think he does.

The one with the cards

Said I was touched by God

I don’t think I’m Joan of Arc

Nothing of me has ever

Been that saintly.