Deep and broken, deeply Broken
songs do well to die.
But the Host of holy ghosts
live on in resurrection's Sigh.

No Blood could be unfaithful
if spilt at Redeemer's hand,
and it wasn't He nor was it we
that knew death in the Plans:

The fire in a Whisper '
crack! and a Mighty Wind;
I wonder how we Know now
the Way through aging sin.

Our clay is searing Desire;
better bells of Freedom ring
and none above than Light and Love:
we're stirred by Deeper Things.

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