Could this be the land of the living
could this be the ground I traverse
could you be the breath at my shouders
Lord, I come to your holy hill
I know a world that's a broken place
with organs like deserts and blindness to faces
with cries from the empty and whines from the full
this arid place has been my home
this longing place has been my home
The earth is a curse and it longs for a day
it blames those of us who destroy it
on that day when the rivers run free
the living will live to enjoy
I long for the soil of my home
I have seen the land of the living
this ground will spring up a well
you are still the breath at my shoulders
Lord, I come to your holy hill
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