but my hope's becoming rust.
I grow weary, weary, weary,
The past is the past--the future is eerie.
I do not want to fear it,
but it's squeezing out my spirit.
These empty days are like a puncture
and I long for days of structure.
Your promises, though hard to cling to,
still prove the only ones that ring true.
So whisper them all to me again,
and lead me on earth as you lead in hev'n
O you who made me out of dust,
come through for me, my only Trust.
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