Must we stumble down these wretched stones,
And crack our bones upon them?
And let our blood flow into cracks old,
And our skin tear on hard, hard ground?
Must we see our eyes blind over,
Our lips peel back?
Must we lie on cold granite,
Let our lungs crumple,
Our hearts still?
And need we watch as we are passed by,
Left behind by the one who named us life?
Must we weep tears of glass
And watch as they shatter at your feet,
As you step over them and let not one shard cut you?
But wait until a hand comes.
To pull us from our bones and empty flesh,
Wait until we are raised by one who named us strength,
And see now,
What cuts we can give you,
No longer stretched on these wretched stones.