I am going to pine I am going to pine for water to turn to wine. But I have had so little of the first.
And I have been drinking sand and eating rocks like bread. And when I thought I was as good as dead, a trickle began to flow in the stream bed like a diamond in a field of coal.
You asked me to speak but all I've done is beat that stone. (and I am going to beat that stone) And I ask for you to let me wet my lips in hopes I could eclipse one light for another. But there is only one true light, all else is reflection. Like an image in a dirty pool or convex of a silver spoon its face less than perfection,
and that's what you want but I can't supply because as I've said my well is dry no matter how much I've tried I've tried tried to pour in it, so I by your goodness all I am is poor in spirit. I am your dearest, in a desert panting, a blessed son, and when I am undone, your promise is that your that one that will finish, and bind up this broken heart, and piece back what's been torn apart from years of neglect and wandering.
I am going hold fast, to the woven three, a life line in a tumultuous, angry sea, whose waves are attentive to whisperings of the one who sleeps in the bow, who vast oceans or even hell can not contain, but who dwells in me complete. Blessed be his name. So I am going to drink and drink and drink this liquid cure and hasn't proof only belief, that when I am weak, forlorn, and about to sink, there we meet. On the road, on the mountain, and on the sea. You ask me to wait wakefully, but all I can do is sleep. So wake me up Lord, wake me.