I looked down at my shoes, because I felt the drip of blood fall from my hammer to the leather through my socks. The knots kept tightening their grip. The cords (chords) ring out the history, and time is a mocker as a remedy. The preacher wore a suit, I knew he would. The tiny print rice paper books, I hated how they saw me so transparently. This heart, my thread, I tried so hard. The best that I could sew was death, no matter how I covered it with deeds. What's there left to do? Because the mud only covers up the stains??짖€??짝 who could imagine a holiday at the sea? Down there, in the sea, I should hold my breath 'til this other person's blood is washing off of me. Down there, in the sea, I should hold my breath 'til this other person's blood is washing over me.
I could not look Him in the face, so I stood revarnishing the floor with my eyes. He stared into them with this love so offended and profound. He tore the center of my shirt and red ws bleeding through from underneath the white clothes that I wore. The fire of devotion was only an ember. Alarmed at this sign of decay, my legs gave out because there was no self left to stand on. Thus, my heart was grieved, vexed in my mind, still Your banner over me was love. My walls are ever before You, still Your banner over me is love. But it was Your kind arms cradling me, a criminal. But it was your kind arms cradling me, a criminal. Oh wretched worm of a man that I am, on Thy kind arms I fall.** I'm just a man. I'm just a criminal.
**From the gravestone of William Carey, reading only, "A wretched, poor, and helpless worm, On Thy kind arms I fall"
> For days and weeks I made the parting call. I cupped my hands, my mouth in "O." I shouted saying,"Brothers, hold my fading arms in the air, I am weak!" They just faded there, my voice was gone. Who will rescue me from this body, not the arms, the fingers still І yes, they feel what they touch as well, cut the cords. Let the ancient Adam go. I've been dancing with this corpse for nineteen years. And when I said, "Who will shave my head, and on the might, reveal me in my skin?" All the secrets of fitness: all the fitness He requires is to feel your need for Him.*** In my room, in my room, in this gospel I have made, salvation is a broken cistern in a handmade frame. I cut the sheets into a flag, paint it red, self-pity hangs over the doorway in. From seven times seventy scraping knees, blood lets, deficiencies, these are the layers of bandages, protection from the sting. In this great lacking, I've found a way. And when I said, "Who will shave my head, and on that might reveal me in my skin?" All the secrets of fitness: all the fitness He requires is to feel your need for Him.*** Who will rescue me from this body, not the arms, the fingers still І yes, they feel what they touch as well, cut the cords. Let the ancient Adam go. I've been dancing with this corpse for nineteen years.
