I was the land Abraham had never seen
when God led him by the hand
blindfolded out of the house where he was born.
I was the country he desperately wanted
and desperately feared.
In his daydreams I grew to a mountain
overflowing with honey,
with the fruit of his loins,
while during his nightmares I shrunk down to a field
wild with brambles, beasts, and broken promise.
Well, I've been both those things.
I am the land his grandson sleeps on,
my stones his pillows,
my dry skin his sheets as he sees
the old ladder stretching up through my skies.
I am a valley of dust,
a wanderer’s dirt road, as special
as a plain man’s face. I am the gate