when my well is dry and
i feel nothing and in my
heart i'm still searching
for something and in the morning
when i come from the mountains
the smell of
the rain is on my witness
and in the valley the
sparrows sing of comfort
but my heart is weakened
still i am willing but my
flesh is weak i come back
to the throne but when i fall down he
comforts me and he picks me up and
when i look back and all i see is one
set of footprints he carried me in the
splash and rain of whitewash i hear a
voice that speaks into thunder but soft
enough for creation to hold a part of me