| I am spent and with death you paid my ransom
|
| For the witness of your word
|
| To bring them in, the jackal’s sin
|
| Oh, the eyes of death are upon me
|
| And the watchman takes his toll
|
| If the river will run dry it will never take us home
|
| With idle minds we grew unconscious as the hunter stalks his prey
|
| His eyes, his eyes are locked on me
|
| You cover the darkest part of me
|
| With a look that’s sure to set the captives free
|
| Oh, make way for I am not the redeemer
|
| Nor do the mountains fall in my name
|
| But with slightest cry, my hunter
|
| You will fail to reach your prey
|
| Still with idle minds unconscious
|
| As the hunter stalks his prey
|
| His eyes, his eyes are locked on me
|
| You cover the darkest part of me
|
| With a look that’s sure to set the captives free
|
| With love that the blindest eyes will see
|
| You cover the darkest part of me
|
| As I am met with travesty
|
| And I am broken and I am empty
|
| And through it all I can see your face
|
| With words unspoken I hear your voice
|
| I see the hand, the hand that writes it all
|
| You’ve called the wind to show its worth
|
| You’ve called the sun to brag about its warmth
|
| Because you are the writer
|
| Because you are the soul of the world
|
| You cover the darkest part of me
|
| With a look that’s sure to set the captives free
|
| With love that the blindest eyes will see
|
| You cover the darkest part of me
|
| Because you are the writer
|
| Because you are the writer |