In the time of my confession
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In the hour of my deepest need
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When the pool of tears beneath my feet
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Flood every newborn seed
|
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There’s a dying force within me
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Reaching out somewhere
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Toiling in the danger
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And the morals of despair
|
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I don’t have the inclination
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To look back on any mistake
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Like Cain I now behold a chain
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Of events that I must break
|
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In the fury of the moment
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I can see the master’s hand
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And every leaf tat trembles
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And every grain of sand
|
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All the flowers of indulgence
|
And the weeds of yester year
|
Like criminals, they helped choke the breath
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Of conscience and good cheer
|
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The sun beat down upon the steps
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Of time to light the way
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To ease the pain of idleness
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And the memory of decay
|
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I gaze into the doorway
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Of temptation’s angry flame
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And every time I pass that way
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I’ll always hear my name
|
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Then onward in my journey
|
I come to understand
|
That every hair is numbered
|
Like every grain of sand
|
|
I have gone from rags to riches
|
In the sorrow of the night
|
In the violence of a summer’s dream
|
In the chill of a wintery light
|
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In the bitter dance of loneliness
|
Fading into space
|
In the broken mirror of innocence
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Of each forgotten race
|
|
I hear the ancient footsteps
|
Like the motion of the sea
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Sometimes I turn, there’s someone there
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Other times it’s only me
|
|
I’m hanging in the balance
|
Of the reality of man
|
Like every sparrow falling
|
Like every grain of sand
|
|
-----------------
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Every Grain Of Sand
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| The Blind Boys of Alabama |
