Sons of man
More than the hairs on your head
You do not wash or cut
You do not comb or brush
You hide instead under a cap
     and grow your own way.

Sons of man
Like the hair on Ezekiel's head
One third I will set afire
One third I will hack to pieces
One third I will scatter to the wind
     and hunt down with my razor.

Sons of man
In the corner of the cutting floor
Yet I will save a lock
Yet I will spare a strand
Yet I will favor a few
     and keep for another day.

Sons of man
Like the remnant of Ezekiel's hair
Turn, and be washed clean
Turn, and become tangle free
Turn, and be grown anew
     and know who I am.
 

Ezekiel. Chapter 5