The whirlpool of Your love draws me down, gently spiraling in turns and swirls.
The current of feeling, movement, and surrender, spirit carried in motion.
The whirlpool of Your love draws me down, gently spiraling in turns and swirls.
Suckling the marrow from Your earth.
I come to You—broken, bruised roses, molting, disheveled. A vessel of love for You, at the turning point of our song.
Tangled in your roots, my love, I find the freedom to be.