God often visits there, God dwells within
But something’s missing through judgment and misunderstanding
And leaving mercy on the floor like a dirty used towel
Should be worn like lovers’ lips – rosy, warm and sweet
But, instead, militia calls the tune: conform to be immune
From the devil’s way – from his vicious hand
Oh the streets are not straight in Lumberland
 

Oaken logs and elmish beams
Are the fashionable eyewear of those of the Day
What does King James have to say about that?
“I don’t know, but may I use the Telephone?”
Letter harsh and Spirit weak
Brings judgment on the meek
But judgment returns as it must and can
Some trees will be falling in Lumberland
 

People seeking God with loving hearts
Are called rebels, almost heathen, friends of Jezebel
Holy blood spilled to pave the way
But unseen structures block the threshold of true heart love
Poisonous hypocrisy and consciences defiled
Growth comes a while but can’t make the stand
For the winds will be blowing in Lumberland