Hold my hands as god's hands, for even god trembles, and servants grow weary without brief respite; do I ask of myself more than what god desires? For my dreams are too real to keep to the night
or the comfort of shadows -- yet how do I speak when the voice has grown weary, and my footsteps are slow. Do I seek a reprieve? I am burdened by silence; yet to burn in your purpose is all I desire.
I am fearful of sleep, for years are not time to fulfill what's been promised, nor learn what you know -- yet I follow your steps like a map of this valley, and a path through these acres of wilderness, grown.