Peter Pilgrim picked a promise
A particular promise picked he.
With his finger he pointed
Declaring it anointed
And never his promise did see.

Up stood he from in front of the set
He named and claimed and yea'd and amen'd.
But his prayer soon concluded
When he thought it well suited
To resume at broadcast's end.

Yes, Peter Pilgrim picked a promise
But never paid the price.
The orchard abounded with trees
of ripe hanging fruit and deep green leaves.
With magic words he strode up demanding
Something about his rights.
Came the reply,
"Ev'n the children that get by
Have wrestled in numerous fights."

"Uncomfortable, your life?" a voice inquired,
"And you'd like things to ease up a bit?"
"A taste of this fruit requires
Your heart to be fired,
Armor buckled
Sword gripped
Lamp lit."

"Steal up on the orchard,
Disarm the guards.
Crash the gate like you mean to get in.
Press in, Press on,
Press hard, Press through,
No matter your courage wear thin.

Now within, eat of His goodness and
Bask as the apple of His eye.
His own now, who disposess,
Warrior-children no less,
Who stand and occupy."

But Peter Pilgrim worried not
Paying good advice no heed.
Accordin' to his reason
This word was not in season.
And, as far as plantin' seed,
He'd wait for greater need.

Yep, Peter Pilgrim picked a promise
And wished upon a star.
From fairy land he called to God,
"I wonder where You are."