The whore sings a praise

Oh let the mountains shout and sing to our King!
Oh let the nations praise you, my God.

You triumph over your enemy, dressed in your garments of light
You free the captives, the sluggard, the drug-addict, the homeless.

You bring bread to the alcoholic and water to the bulimic.
You shed a tear for the cripple and you give him a place to rest.

Your mouth was filled with sand…for 40 days you ate nothing.
But, Oh!, you’ve broken the rock and you’ve poured out yourself!

So you’ve given out your roses, you’ve placed them one by one.
You’ve placed them in the hand of the whore, the pimp and the murderer.

You’ve placed a song on my lips and given me praise!
You’ve turned the hateful into life and given a name to the forgotten.

So sing your praises you widower, sing praises to God, you lost child!
His kingdom has come! His mercy makes the dark places bright!

The unwanted sings a praise and walks in open places.
The destitute finds pleasure in the cool gold beneath his feet.

Oh let the rivers shout to you, oh mighty King!
Oh let the people be glad, for you have redeemed them.