If your soul was in your palm,
beneath the skin.
Would you worry where to put it,
when you sin?

Would you ask the Lord to hold it,
then come back and say He stole it;
being careful cause you know
the mood He's in?

Or would you run and hide,
with the devil keeping stride;
and relax your grip a little,
now and then?

And just knowing that it's chancy,
wear a glove that's clean and fancy;
then convince yourself with mercy,
it's not sin

When the trumpet sounds for glory,
and your hands are blood and gory;
there's no time to get them clean,
or even pray.

Knowing well, the straight and narrow,
you will blame the other fellow;
when the time has come to face,
your judgment day.

While you're still among the living,
and the good Lord still is giving;
now's the time to have Him wash it,
with His word.

For your soul just will not make it,
if you let the devil take it;
and then try to tell the Lord,
you haven't heard.