Lletres: Jars Of Clay. The Widowing Field.

I?m sure that I could never make it
Through a night without you here
The fire in the skies
Illuminates the demons closing in

Have mercy on my soul if I am not the last
Have mercy on my soul if I am not the last to go

As I crawl along these trails
And fight upon this widowing field
The ground below is bare and burned
In the places I have learned to trust you

Have mercy on my soul if I am not the last
Have mercy on my soul if I am not the last to go

If I am not the last to go
Believe in silence sets my heart to racing
I will lift my eyes to you
Please, Father, find me

Have mercy on my soul if I am not the last
Have mercy on my soul if I am not the last to go