Song of the Prodigal

Tattered shirt on my back,
and no shoes for my feet,
And these hulls for the pigs are looking so good to eat.
All my friends walked away when push came to shove,
And I’m far from my father’s house,
but not from his love.

I think I will arise and go back home.
I’ll admit I was wrong for the things I’ve done.
I’ll say, “I don’t deserve to be called your son.
Father, you have many slaves, just make me one."

So I packed up my bag; it didn’t take long.
And I rehearsed my speech ’bout how I’d been wrong.
And I walked up the road down which I had come.
It once seemed oh so short,
but now it was long.

Who’s that up the road? Who is it I see?
Could it be my dad? Is he running to me?
Are these his arms giving me an embrace?
And are these tears,
tears of joy running down his face?


Son: Father, I have sinned.
   Father: Go and kill the fat calf.
’Gainst heaven and earth.
   I feel like a laugh.
And I brought great pain
   Here, put on this ring.
To those who gave me birth.
   I’m ready to sing.
I don’t think you heard a single word I said.
   But son, you are alive, we thought you were dead.

Cause you're the prodigal come home,
And you're been too long away.
You're the prodigal come home,
But now you're here to stay.
Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!
The prodigal's come home!
Yes, the prodigal's come home!

If you know you’ve been a wayward prodigal.
And you know what it’s like to suffer a fall.
Take the road back home;
it’s your only choice.
Soon you’ll see your father’s face
and hear his voice.