Rupture, momentum, a mighty squall, Look at them, it’s no use to run When under a wall fifty miles tall Was this Your will being done?
Their love for You, misunderstood in a war that’s never won. In a crowd a man erupts in powder and blood Even here, will Your will be done?
Lonely fliers Make two towers into one, Of steel, glass, bones and fire. When will Your will be done?
The sky and the dirt drawn together. In the mud is dropped heaven’s son. To a post of wood a dead man tethered Your will is done.
Raw Spoon, 2-4-15 (written: 2002ish)