Your tradition was an illusion
a monstrous pillar of ash towering high
blacking out the sky; illusion of substance
As we pull that tower down
we saw Heaven kiss the ground
Oh G-d, the Life that shot through our bones
We cried out for water driven from stone
To finally meet the Shining One
that we might praise, as They shown
A connection we could own, someone
to stand firm as stone

Withstanding the wave, no matter how uncertain
When times appear grave, You will carry our burdens

This could be the Light; this could be the Fire
the Lamb to bring the sword. Blaze rise higher
We must make this right, for our need is dire

Look how they are healed with a touch!
His cloak, a wrinkled hand reached to brush
see all infirmity turn to dust
Granted sight to the ever blind
Touch of spit and mud; or was the main ingredient Love?
Could this really be the one to draw
the oppressor's blood?

I've fought in the dark for too long
I'll show my face, I'll bare Your name
No longer afraid. This could be the Light
this could be the Fire, the Lamb to bring the sword
Blaze rise higher, higher. We must make this right
for our need is dire

If he is for us, who can be against us?