Feb 2019
The Root of every story is the one I hope to hear
the one that has been buried ‘neath a world without an ear
[‘cause every noise is nothing but a clinical decay
and everyone’s on something while believing they’re okay]
the Words toward which I gravitate are not some passersby
I wait for them like Water pouring down from rainy skies
and every time I hear them, You I glorify again
The Source of every root I have, the Miracle Himself
the one that has been buried ‘neath a world without an ear
[‘cause every noise is nothing but a clinical decay
and everyone’s on something while believing they’re okay]
the Words toward which I gravitate are not some passersby
I wait for them like Water pouring down from rainy skies
and every time I hear them, You I glorify again
The Source of every root I have, the Miracle Himself
«Для дерева есть надежда, что оно, если и будет срублено, снова оживет, и отрасли от него выходить не перестанут: если и устарел в земле корень его, и пень его замер в пыли, но, лишь почуяло воду, оно дает отпрыски и пускает ветви, как бы вновь посаженное.»
Книга Иова 14:7-9
Книга Иова 14:7-9
