Move my stale wind
Shake my crumbling ground
Birth in me, a new tender, loving heart.
Move my stale wind
Shake my crumbling ground
Birth in me, a river that wont run out.
Oh, I am worse than the blind
For I have seeing eyes, that can’t receive your light
I am worse than the mute, for I have the ability to form words and speak
but I refuse to tell the truth.
Yes, I am worse than them all
For you have called me out
from among the crowd
but I choose to ignore your call
So move my stale wind
Shake my crumbling ground
Plant in me, a new living seed
one which grows despite the drought.