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