What good are all the words on the earth
If, to healing, they cannot give birth?
And so it seems my words have no worth
And I sing an empty song
If all the stories that I tell
Are only proof that I lie so well
And on every word I tripped and fell
Then I sing an empty song
But through my sin and through my shame
I heard you calling out my name
You held me close without blame
And I sang an unworthy song, a beautiful song, indeed
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