The Lord must know which souls to take,
which hearts have served him well.
He must have found a way to choose
the guests with whom He’ll dwell.

But if He knows which ones He wants,
and hears their final song,
and sees the sorrow locked inside,
why make them wait so long?

A coma-cage surrounds her now,
she doesn’t speak or move.
I think she sometimes hears my words,
but this I cannot prove.

In any case, her time has come,
I hold her cold, thin hand.
Is this His final test of faith?
I just don’t understand.