The Prodigal Son

Father, give my money to me
Inheritance as son to thee
For I can’t wait until you die
To distant lands with cash I fly.

Rebellious friends, enchanted foes
Exciting place, this land impose
What time have I with all of these
In carefree life, with total ease.

How dull, dreary, was life before
At home with Father, what a bore
My nights now late, my days so long
With each new day brings heightened throng.

The money flows, the friends crowd round
So popular, I’m to be found
Bartender give new friend a drink
Come join, this band, comp’ny I keep.

What’s this you say, my bank o’er drawn?
How can this be? My money gone!
Oh friends, may I borrow from thee
To pay the bar, my tab you see?

No cash to spare, have you for me
Where do all go, now friendless be
Outside I sit, where once I tread
And now next meal, I look in dread.

Farmer, oh help, or starve will I
I need a job, your pigs look dry.
Feed, water, care and in exchange
For bread and drink, to keep my name.

Now here I sit, in muddy ground
Filthy, covered, in pig slop mound
Only to eat, what’s left for swine
When formerly I used to dine.

At Father’s house, the slaves do eat
Better than I, this place my seat
Return will I, to beg for grace
Not as a son, but slave in place.

Far up ahead, my home I see
This speck now grows, what memories
Exhausted, sore, and hungry kept
My heart, in hope as quick I step.

Surprise the door flung open wide
Father, in tears, runs to my side
Embrace, my filthy body, he
New clothes, a ring, he puts on me.

Alas my son was lost but found
Prepare the calf, go trumpet sound
Rejoice alive and son shall be
Restored with love and grace is he.