My senses grow numb.
With each pa**ing phase.
Surrounded by guilt.
In inspiration we sought.
Look unto him.
And with pride, Be ye saved.
Creation so true.
To the image he found.
From the dust on the ground.
To the breath of good life.
I walked in the air.
In forty below.
But he never gives it up.
Oh no I said he never gives it up.
He never gives it up.
Oh no he never gives it up.
Oh no his faith in man.
You hear that great voice.
From the book of time.
In it's pages we dwell.
Upon a high dusty shelf.
A power we have.
But to use in the sign.
Now talk to your mind.
And reach for the truth.
We've bruised our existence.
In the presence of self.
Reach for the far crying moment.
Walk on...