His palms are cold and sweaty
And he can barely speak.
He's camped out by the mailbox
For two and a half weeks.
Now it's "So long, girls! I'll see you!
I got my mission call.
We can date throughout the summer,
but I'm leaving in the fall!"
It's the doors you tract. It's street contacts.
It's Lamb of God videos.
It's two long years, will she still be there,
Waiting when you get home?
Well, it's tags and suits. It's faith in the fruits.
It's planting a goodly seed.
It's the love and the care, the testimony you share,
When they call you a mission'ry.
I thought there was a second verse, but I can't remember it.
