Saturday, February 6, 2010

Good God, if your song leaves our lips

If your work leaves our hands

Then we will be wanderers and vagabonds

They will stare and say how empty we are

How the freedom we had turned us up as dead men

Let us be cold, and make us weak

Let us because we all have ears

Let us because we all have eyes

Good God.

Underoath, you complete me.

No comments:

Post a Comment