Fall asleep,
Wanderers of the world,
Dry your tears and rest.
Collapse from sheer exhaustion
Be found instead of lost in
This broken world with shards of glass
Leaving scars as we fall.
Some die too young,
While innocence is ripped
From the bleeding hands of the children.
And they starve to death
As we scrape our plates.
Is it too late?
God, to redeem this broken place?
Let us rest our bleeding hearts.
And help us know
The reason to wake in the morning is
Hope.
That this is not how it was meant to be.
That there was once a perfect home.
And that there still is a God on the throne
Who weeps with us.
Who bleeds with us.
So, sleep in his arms tonight, child.
And know that this pain is not the end.
That this pain is not the end.
This pain is not the end.
