i hate the gain of hate in me
your words are broke and breaking free
and is your sight so full of you
that you forgot you're breaking too

old napkins on a wooden desk
fear the future, brave the rest
and now a promise old and blurred
to live the truth of hope deferred

to hear the voice of purest gold
a world not young, a God not old
and in the seeking, lost and found
contrasting hallowed hollow ground