His name is Andrew,
He works in a canning factory;
He doesn't have a friend,
He chooses to wait alone for his life to end.

When Andrew was just a little boy
He knew all the words to all the hymns of joy
And he sang them on Sunday
And he sang them on Monday
And in April and in May
And he heard them say,
God is love, God is love,
And he believed them.

This child was Andrew,
He lived in a world of innocence,
On him the lion grinned;
He sang in the arms of God as he [bad word] the wind.

When Andrew was tall and twenty-one
He wandered from God and wondered what he'd done
For he still sang on Sunday
Though he muddled [bad word]  Monday
With a silence in his head
Till in jest it said,
God redeems, God redeems,
And he believed it.

This man was Andrew,
Hearing a voice he thought was stilled;
Back to the arms of grace he stumbled through darkened woods
To a lighted place.

When Andrew returned to love and light
He lifted his voice and sang away the night;
And the preacher from Sunday
Heard him singing on Monday
And he stopped him with a word.
From the dark he heard:
God is dead!
God is dead!
And he believed him.

My name is Andrew.
I work in a canning factory.
I do not have a friend.
I choose to wait alone
For this life to end.