The pastor at the pulpit
Looks out among his flock
"Are there any more prayer requests?"
He holds a pen to jot

Well, Myrna's been having migraines
John's upcoming surgery
And Judy's still in the hospital
But she should be coming home this week

The pastor begins to put his pen
In the pocket of his vest
When someone in the back row says
"Unspoken request"

Now almost without a sound
Heads discreetly turn around
Wondering what could be so bad
That it could not be said out loud

And while the pastor gives his sermon
Who knows, maybe his best
It falls on minds preoccupied
By an unspoken request

Could it be drugs or alcohol, or infidelity?
Embarrassing complications from a vasectomy?
At the very worst, murder
At the very least, IBS
Yeah, this is where the mind is led
By an unspoken request

So if you really must
Call upon the Lord
Say the very worst thing
That you can afford
Believe me when I say
And don't put it to the test
There ain't nothin' louder
Than an unspoken request