God with a chisel.
 
Can you not see?
Can you not see what this means?
What this means to me?
 
I’m down here screaming,
Screaming at the rock.
In the wasteland,
Where the litter blows,
Where graffiti grows.
This candle glows,
This flame, it burns for You,
Yes it is burning low
It is burning low,
Burning slow.
Because, this night is cold.
This night is tired,
Its been so long.
 
These hands they ache now,
I’m screaming out, again,
Screaming at the rock,
From whence I came.
 
Rock from rock,
You wil grind my days,
To powder,
Grind my self-will
By Your power,
Grind me down,
To build me up,
In Your own immutable way.