On the days when the sun
does not rise, when the chill
will not dissipate from the night air,
words fall anechoic from our lips
to the carpeted abyss.
Let our tears be our salt-
seasoned offerings,
burning water our prayer.
Lord, hear our prayer.
On the days when the sun
does not rise, when the chill
will not dissipate from the night air,
words fall anechoic from our lips
to the carpeted abyss.
Let our tears be our salt-
seasoned offerings,
burning water our prayer.
Lord, hear our prayer.