Stone and brick, iron and steel,

We build strong walls along the street,

Man-made structures now the Heavens seal

And pluck the grass from underneath our feet.

We’re civilized, dignified and educated,

Technology is pouring from our walls,

We are connected, yet so disconnected,

Stone-faced at the beggar’s calls.

I am that beggar, a face in the crowd,

Begging to see and to be seen,

You give me change to buy my shroud,

And walk on spraying your hands clean.

Machines are moving in the shadows

Of great men of high esteem.

Their ash falls down with quiet woes

As foreign hands build up their dream.

Today don’t build, but listen, friend,

To that last robin from the tree

Water the roses, to your garden tend,

And show the beggar you once more can see.

Christ my Lord, my love, my truth,
In my heart you are forever king,
But people try to lock your voice
In endless chains of suffering.

They speak of virtue, art and meaning,
But are afraid to speak Your name
They seek the light and softly mould their words,
And drown Thy presence in names of fame.

I ache, for I have been transformed,
Through crafts of men that seek the truth,
My friend, it is not you that brightens up the day
But thy eternal Father, who brings you youth.

So I must speak…Christ, Christ, Christ!
The sweetest Word in all the world,
I need not movement nor technique
To weep in silence at Your feet.