speak to me in whispers

I am not a theologian, nor a theologian’s son
I’m just looking for the answer, and a bit under the gun
Can’t say what’s the pressure; feels like a rush
To get to an understanding, to listen to the bush

Speak to me in whispers
In the whirlwind’s aftermath
I’m standing in the crevice
Just waiting for you to pass

I’ve outrun my own thinking, left myself behind
“Stranded in Babylon, just looking for a sign”
See the cloud on the horizon, no bigger than my fist
Feel the rain drenching my face; I’ve waited for this

Speak to me in whispers
In the whirlwind’s aftermath
I’m standing in the crevice
Just waiting for you to pass This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License

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