Mother Theresa understood the laying on of hands
What I often wonder is how she kept from hearing love’s demands
If in her loneliness she ever dreamed of following earthly commands, oh yeah
Mother Theresa understood the laying on of hands
Touch is a language What it you have to say to me
Come and talk about it Tell me where you’re locked and where you’re free
Brutality or tenderness, our bodies are exchanged in all eternity, oh yeah
Touch is a language What is it you have to say to me
In this wilderness do we hurt or heal within our daily plans, oh yeah
Mother Theresa understood the laying on of hands
Mother Theresa understood the laying on of hands
Mother Theresa understood the laying on of hands
Epictetus probably slept with hands above the covers
Lost no sleep in counting sheep or numbers of ex lovers
The thing about a stoic is he’s always understated
I don’t know about happiness but virtue’s overrated
La la la la
La la la la
La la la la la la