| I’ve spent some days looking
|
| For a length of rope
|
| And a place to hang it
|
| From the end of my hope
|
| But where I thought hope had ended
|
| I always find a little bit more
|
| It’s not like I’m trying
|
| To be optimistic
|
| If the truth be told
|
| I’d rather dismiss it
|
| And be free of the burden
|
| Of the living that hoping requires
|
| To bring my heart
|
| To every day
|
| And run the risk of fearlessly loving
|
| Without running away
|
| Jesus is speaking
|
| But it’s so hard to hear
|
| When disciples with swords
|
| Are cutting off ears
|
| Broken and bleeding
|
| I’m waiting for healing to come
|
| But wounded’s a part
|
| That I’ve learned to play well
|
| Though the wound may run deeper
|
| Than I know how to tell
|
| Where pain’s an addiction
|
| That keeps me buried alive
|
| But when it’s all that I know
|
| I’m afraid to leave it behind
|
| And bring my heart
|
| To every day
|
| And run the risk of fearlessly loving
|
| Without running away
|
| My heart is not lifted up
|
| My eyes are not lifted up
|
| But calm and quiet is my soul
|
| Like a child with its mother is my soul
|
| After a while in the dark
|
| Your eyes will adjust
|
| In the shadows you’ll find
|
| The hand you can trust
|
| And the still small voice
|
| That calls like the rising sun
|
| Come
|
| And bring your heart
|
| To every day
|
| Run the risk of fearlessly loving
|
| Without running away
|
| You must run the risk of fearlessly loving
|
| Without running away |