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In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need |
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When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed |
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There's a dyin' voice within me reaching out somewhere, |
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Toiling in the danger and i nthe morals of despair. |
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Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake, |
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Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break. |
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In the fury of the moment I can see the Master's hand |
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In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand. |
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Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yesteryear, |
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Like criminals, they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer. |
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The sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way |
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To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay. |
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I gaze into the doorway of temptation's angry flame |
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And every time I pass that way I always hear my name. |
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Then onward in my journey I come to understand |
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That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand. |
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I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night |
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In the violence of a summer's dream, in the chill of a wintry light, |
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In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space, |
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In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face. |
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I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea |
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Sometimes I turn, there's someone there, other times it's only me. |
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I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man |
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Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand. |
