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Maybe I should live like Buddah; sit upon a great sand dune
And when I turn my head, my only view would be the moon
I would just eat berries, my only food
And then my soul would soar and sing, uh huh
Maybe I was one of those children, who heard Fatima speak
They went and built a chapel there; I think she preferred the tree
I have prayed so hard, to see myself bleed
From my hands and from my feet
Maybe I should travel; go see all of the saints
That never decomposed; hundreds of years they are the same
Would it be dishonorable, to crawl on up inside
And ask them if I'm doing this right?
Maybe we're all angels, just visiting these bodies
I have heard them more than not call me a prophet
But delusions of grandeur is why they locked me up before
Maybe I should be a minstrel; always carry my guitar
Peppering songs with metaphors; make you rethink your thoughts
Always more effective, to speak and just be gone
Have I lived long enough for my words to carry on?
Maybe I should be a mother, pass along my gene pool
Take a smaller piece of me, and carry it in my womb
Maybe she would be the one to show me the different view
That I just can't seem to get to
Maybe we're all angels, just visiting these bodies
I have heard them more than not call me a prophet
But delusions of grandeur is why they locked me up before
Glazed eyes upon Madonna
Ecstasy through stigmata
Knowing it all then not
Behold the prophet
They say there's nothing closer
They say there's nothing closer
But we'll find something closer
To God
Words and Music by Katie Miller, 1999
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