Oh if I could be… void and empty
Of all my thoughts and
Presuppositions
Filter truth to me
Recurring daydream,
I'm prostrate in a field
Amidst Your creation
It's all around me
Your wind's a torrent blowing
The dead leaves off of my tree
Stripped of my filters, maybe
I could be learning
Oh if I could hear simple clarity
I'm full of hardened misunderstandings
And they filter truth to me
You are the well of
Unmeasured purity
And my interpretations
Will soon be buried
Your wind's a torrent blowing
The dead leaves off of my tree
Stripped of my filters, maybe
I could be learning
