stale wind

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.