In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need, In the pools of tears beneath my feet, blood of every newborn seed, There's a dying voice within me, reaching out somewhere, Toiling in the danger and the morals of despair. Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake, Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break. In the fury of the moment, I can see the Master's hand, In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand. All the flowers of indulgence, and the weeds of the ester year, Like criminals they choke the breath of conscience and good cheer. The sun beams down upon the steps of time to light the way, To ease the pain of idleness in the memory of decay. I gaze into the doorway of temptation's angry flame, And every time I pass that way, I always hear my name. And onward on my journey, I come to understand, That every hair is numbered, like every grain of sand. I've gone from rags to riches, in the sorrow of the night, The violence of a summer's dream, in the chill of a wintery night. The bitter dance of loneliness, fading into space, And the broken mirror of innocence, on each forgotten face. I hear the ancient footsteps, like the motion of the sea. Sometimes I turn, there's someone there, other times it's only me. I'm hanging in the balance, of the reality of all men, Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand. Thank you for watching!