In silence, erosion, a debt must be paid,
the salt of the earth must return
to the day my town fell, and my path was laid
between the remains that still burned.

A wife must obey without question or noise,
but a wife's cherished chore is the home:
evicted for sin, and God left just one choice
for me and my girls, not yet grown.

Lot hurries before us, not one glance behind,
as we run from the gates of the city;
he leaps like a goat, and we follow blind
towards deserts that grant us no pity.

The girls were caught up in the rush of the dawn,
and Lot was compelled by his prayers,
but I was aware of just what would be gone
as we fled into mountainous air.

So I turned around, just a look, just a glance,
a need to bid my home goodbye:
the home I had built more of choice than of chance,
the home Abraham did provide.

The sun shone down bright, and still does today,
though it shines on a much different scene;
my body is scattered from the place where it lay
and the winds have burnished me clean.