As I dance the recovery waltz
to the beat of the one two three pause
I bemoan such a meaningless life
freed from lust, from addiction at last.
I keep digging for meaning and sense
as I see what I am on my own,
pick a god spec’ly crafted for me
and decide to let him take the lead.
Is this all, I don’t want to begrudge
the recovery I’ve found which is vast
but the hope that they promised
evades earnest search, strands my soul,
leaves me lost. As I look to Step Four I’m aghast,
lacking strength for the strenuous task.
I sit hopeless, bereft, and adrift
I see pain, living hurts once again.
I can’t stand, can’t endure, I am sure.
So I’m hopelessly stuck in the waltz,
one two three one two three, woe is me.