Every past wound, and the sword I keep near them, are but pinpricks compared to how You ruin me, and fill me Yours.
Every past wound, and the sword I keep near them, are but pinpricks compared to how You ruin me, and fill me Yours.
I tumble over—rapture of overflow, no boundary to keep me composed. Tears quake me wide awake, raw, vulnerable.
I write love songs to You in all that I do.
A spark trailing luminous pathways, Coursing His name in blazing fire Through every darkened corner.
Music for ritual, desire, and devotion.