By digging my fingers in real deep,
Wearing away my flesh and bones
Trying to climb a slope so steep.
Is there a God that hears my moans?
Cares He at all when I weep?
My world is flooded when I weep
And salty tears erode the stones
That form the tombs buried deep,
Built to house our flesh and bones.
Winds howl through mountains steep,
An echo of my grisly moans
I shatter the night with my moans;
My blood and sweat form a steep
Dissolving mortar binding stones
And the tower starts to weep.
Not tears like those of flesh and bones,
But like willows rooted deep.
My fingers can only reach so deep
Into the unrelenting stones
Before my veins begin to weep,
My throat full-choked with my moans.
And now the risk has grown too steep,
Right at the end of flesh and bones.
I can't rely on flesh and bones
Prone to pain, and in pain weep.
And so I loose the loosened stones
And start to plummet toward the deep.
Then will God hear my moans
And raze to earth this too-tall steep?
Time will wear away this steep,
Towers will be but sands of stones.
Our bodies' dust will fill the deep,
The last remnants of flesh and bones.
The clouded skies will cease to weep,
The rumbling earth will cease its moans.
We are not wood, nor are we stones,
They lack moans and cannot weep.
Deep down our best is flesh and bones.
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