hands forever lifted up starved for water drop any cup
hands with no eyes groping around locked in lostness can't be found creaks of door on eternal hinge . . .
nevermore grace may they touch or binge
it's starts like this you think you're fine marching like others in a fat old line
you hear the echoes of time on fire and assume your steps will go higher and higher
god of all with little "g" you feel no place could be hell for thee
make a bed in any pile but you've never tasted the permanent "WHILE"
WHERE no one and nothing is coming for you no taste of life to mingle no stew
While life as you knew it and saw it as child that place where the grass and the water are mild
it yet exists it always has only you threw your finger and drank all the gas
no body sent you here not till you chose to hate all the water and life that arose
all because your knee was prone to not bend there in that place you'll never to mend
only if you're not there, and you're still drawing breath then think through your thoughts before you've hit death
For Christ is still out there the gates have not settled . . .
There's a reason it steams and it whistles that Kettle
For destruction was not the first plan for mankind The Maker of all had bett'r in mind.
He even has spoke that he never takes pleasure to throw down his beasts into ever-burnt weather
but mistake not his patience that stay of His hands for meaning no bite lies behind his demands
For great is the lament that wail with no solve For those who foment and refuse God's resolve