My soul it sings, “The king is coming”.

Who am I, to disagree? The king is coming.

Who am I, to stop his will? The king is coming.

His landslides- there’s no where to hide.

His currents- are taking me under again.

The weight of my sin, is causing my bones to crack and bend.

Oh earth, how you have forsaken me.

All I’ve known you to be, is nothing more than a scheme.

The mountains no longer stand high.

The valley’s now reach the sky.

The rivers no longer flow,

and the trees won’t shelter the crows.

The author and creator, is entering into his creation.

The strokes within his painting, stand still with anticipation.

The director has stepped onto the stage, and the play is now over.

Our savior has returned, but in him have I found favor?