For the shape that things have taken
For the bending of our days
From the place we were forsaken
To the place our heads are laid
For what all the ravens brought
For the bread that wouldn’t last
For the water from the rock
For the wandering that’s passed
For the scroll that tasted sweet
Then turned to sour halfway down
For how we are made complete
By being buried, burnt, or drowned
For a tale we couldn’t write
The verse we can’t compose
For a love we couldn’t fight
For however this thing goes,
We give you thanks, oh Lord.
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