| I turned my face from God, but I won’t turn from you
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| I turned it not in shame, but to shield his light from view
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| My body, it will die, but what I do today will resonate
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| Until the action, long since passed
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| Bears no resemblance to what it wrought before
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| You turned your face as well and I feared I was to blame
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| Because your face now turned
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| No longer burned with virtue’s flame
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| And when your face was turned
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| It ceased to be pleasingly cherubic
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| I could detect the spark (or lack thereof) or chronic tepidness
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| I turned my face from God, but I won’t turn from you
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| I turned it not in shame, but to shield his light from view
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| My body it will die but what I do today will resonate
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| Until the action, long since passed
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| Bears no resemblance to what it wrought before
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| I’d like to think that I
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| Can tough-mindedly avoid these snares
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| But this conceit will last
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| Only until your rod and staff are gone
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| And now that I have wept tears of despair
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| Please let me cling to you
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| And now that I have died to myself
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| Please let me see your face
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| And since my longing took a desperate turn
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| I feel you near to me
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| And now that my voice cracks with regret
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| I draw you into me
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| I may not have a lot
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| But what you have, you have surely got
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| And when it’s gone from me?
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| Part of it will stay with you endlessly
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| What did it do in me?
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| It wrapped your heart in veiny filigree
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| What if I turn around?
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| Then truthfully, you were never found |