I know you think ill of me
My little acts does make thee sick
But I know my every thrust
Is all designed for you to loathe me more
Where to, Where we go?
The bridge to see a wayward fish.
She swims I hear on Sunday streams
To worship the God who did send His Son.
I have heard of thee
But Now I see.
Oh I see. Oh I see!
And glad I did believe.