Friday, June 29, 2007

Staring at a Bird

Yesterday I briefly mentioned a song by The Waiting that includes the lyrics "the chasing of my pillow and my plate." The song is called "Staring at a Bird," and it's from their 1995 "Blue Belly Sky" album (which was re-released in 1998 under a new label and with a few more songs on it).

Staring at a Bird, to me, is about the longing to overcome the flesh, along with the futility of trying to overcome flesh by the flesh. It takes the whole song to get to the subtle "answer" of how one is "unpinned" from the bed, and I have to say that this song was one of those songs back in the early days of my "grace walk" that helped me to begin focusing more on my identity in Christ than on my behavior, which of course opened up a whole new world of love and praise for my Savior, and a much deeper relationship.

I tried to embed the video of the song here, but it just wasn't working, so here's a link to the video (at the link, click "Watch It Now!").

I'm here staring at a bird in a tree
Lying still, only wishing he was me
'Cause for a bird it's not a crime
To try and satisfy his bird belly hunger
Or fly the blue belly sky

And from his bird's eye view
He can pick and he can choose
He doesn't have to grieve the spirit
No he doesn't have to lose a moment's joy there in his nest
No matter what his mess, and he can barrel out his chest
And he can fly away...

But I'm pinned down in my bed again
I don't think I could fly (I wouldn't try)
If I was a bird I would be content
To peck along the ground
'Cause I'm pinned down again...

I'm here staring at a bird on a limb
Lying still, only wishing I was him
Because I could use a haven,
A nest above my fate
Call it a rest from the chasing of me pillow and my plate

And for a bird it's always right to love his appetite
He's too dumb to know the struggle, to weak to know the fight
He can fly south when he gets cold, sing until he's old
And on a whim, he can unfold his wings
And fly away


I'm here staring at a bird in the air
I wonder what I'd see if I looked down from there
I'd see a shattered temple, all it's members in a sweat
Everyone has been degraded, every sermon they forget

I'd see a man pulled from his bed by the same Hands of Love
That hung a cross around his neck
Just to remind him, remind him who he was...

No comments:

Post a Comment