Whirr whirr chicka chicka bomp bomp, psst
Whirr whirr chicka chicka bomp bomp, psst

Oh, man!
Of all the magic, mysterious, open a child's imagination to the universe sounds,
That one has got to be the most awesome.

It was awesome fast (Whirr whirr chicka chicka bomp bomp, psst)
It was awesome slow (Whirr whirr chicka chicka bomp bomp, psst)
I don't know how many times we took the trip to Agape Land,
Met a magical conductor who told us about the music machine,
Where if you put something in it a song would come out,
But every time, a red-haired, freckle faced boy
And his completely dominant, chubby cheeked, older brother
Forgot about their never ending competitive rivalry
And sang songs about love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
You'd think we would have worn out the record,
That lovely, black grooved piece of plastic with an album cover of original art
Confirming in our childhood minds that Agape Land actually existed.
Oh, you could tell me all day that Herbert the Snail had never crashed through spider webs,
Collided with crickets,
Or learned from his wise, aged father to
Have patience, have patience,
Don't be in such a hurry.
But I could hear them, true and real,
Singing to me as I brushed my teeth in rubber footed pajamas,
When my parents read me bedtime stories or prayed for me,
Those simple melodies lilted through my dreams...
Peace is when I'm tucked in bed
When my mommy pats my head
Peace is smiling while I sleep
God gives me peace.

And I'm standing in a thrift store in Georgetown, Kentucky,
Staring at the memory of a world that seems like it never really existed.
I've gotten an education,
Lived in the world we know where divorce rips apart families,
Abuse batters mothers and children,
Christians don't always act like the God they proclaim,
Drug addiction, disease, injustice, war, rape hunger, poverty and indifference to the pain of other people stifle our confidence,
Dominate our existence,
Make us feel like the only thing real is survival in the face of a never-ending cycle.

But I can't stop the real memory of two, hope-filled children singing with big, wide grins,
Jesus is my Lord
Jesus is my King
Jesus is my song
This is why I sing
And I'm singing now,
Tears streaming down my face
Like angels dancing on the ruins of bodies buried in bombed buildings.

I don't understand how beauty can bloom in the face of atrocity.
There is no answer that guarantees a life free from pain and suffering.
But I am holding on to the unbelievable hope
That a land of love will last much longer than the voices that scream, “It's not real!”
That a childhood song can heal,
That we were made to steal back life from the jaws of death.
And this song beats louder (Whirr whirr chicka chicka bomp bomp, psst)
And stronger (Whirr whirr chicka chicka bomp bomp, psst)
And wilder(Whirr whirr chicka chicka bomp bomp, psst)
In my chest,
And it's got to be the most awesome sound in the world!