In clips and slips the beads descend,
Singing whispered prayers' no end,
Messages floating on the wind,
Forgiveness for all who sinned.
But forgiveness comes one by one
And sometimes there can be none.
My prayers oft walk a silent floor,
Where echoes' echo no more.
In the power of prayer I swear,
Even though the beads do wear
And the string grows thinner each day,
As my fingers wrinkle grey.
I ask you pray, the soul of man,
Those that can't and those that can.
Pay the fee whatever the toll,
Maybe it will save, one soul.
Perhaps that soul may be your own,
Or a friend that lives alone.