The Broken

How many years, how many faces,
Weeping for graces,
Hiding amongst the dead,
And stealing bread
To fill their empty souls.

The weight of their broken bits
Always weighing, weighing, weighing
And I fall remiss.

I weep for the little ones,
The wandering bones
Who have ached long
For a home, for a song,
To fill their empty souls.

The weight of their broken bits
Always weighing, weighing, weighing
And I fall remiss.

And if I weep
Surely You, who knows no sleep,
Must keep vigil, must keep track
Of all the little hearts
who can’t fight back,

The weight of their broken bits
Always waiting, waiting, waiting
For someone to assist,

And You exist,
And therefore mend.

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