Although the sun proceeds to climb,
over every day per night,
and the moon endures to find,
an eye to share his might.
The Lord has fallen silent,
like a child of war in plight.
Should the wind cease to blow?
That we can hear his cry?
Or the mountains fall down as rubble,
so that we should not climb this high?
Would words of solemnity provide for you,
the heart to understand.
The world was never made to be,
a workshop for any man.
When the fields took bloom,
and blossomed.
Or the crab apple, grew it's first fruit.
What man would have cried out in peril,
and muttered a groaning dispute?
Well these mountains still stand tall,
in fields that continue to bloom.
Even yet there are forests and stars,
which far exceed you!
So lay down your hands,
and humble your hearts.
For the Lord is still king,
and he cares not for your Arts.
No structure however tall,
will please his loving eyes.
No writing how long,
will bring dreams to his mind.
Only treachery we bring to his Glory
when we lay down our hands.
And bring up from his World,
our devious plans.
No gold, cloth, or goods
will cover the whole.
Should we every attempt to try
that's what the Saviour was for.
I wait for the day
when He dries up those tears,
and takes justice on the Earth
and our product is wiped clear.



LinkBack URL
About LinkBacks
Reply With Quote




Bookmarks