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