Good God.
if your song leaves our lips,
if your work leaves our hands, then we will be wonders and vagabonds.
They will stare and say how empty we are,
how the freedom we had turned us up as dead men...
Let us be cold, make us weak.
Let us, because we all have ears, let us, because we all have eyes...
How they knew that this would happen?
We're so run down...
Good God! Can you still get us home?
How can we still get home?
I'm not dreaming,
we're forgetting our forgiveness.

@ underoath - too bright to see, to loud too hear.