Dear World, we are dying,
Do you hear the death rattle?
I hear it in the silence–when shots ring
And blood blooms and dries.

Dear World, we are dying,
Do you see the yawning grave?
I see it in the ruin–when laws pass
And life ends unknown.

Dear World, we are dying,
Do you feel the gangrene wound?
I feel it in the apathy–when eyes blank
And light only from electronic numb.

Dear World, we are dying,
Do you know the final words?
I know them in aging–when faces fade
And time slips by ungrasped.

Dear World, He is living,
Do you hear the song of hope?
I hear it in the quiet–when hammer struck
And blood flowed and cleansed.

Dear World, He is living,
Do you see the new life offered?
I see it in the womb–when faith is found
And life is reborn out of death.

Dear World, He is living,
Do you feel the scar healed over?
I feel it in the peace–when seeming chaos reigns
And a Whisper moves my hands to act.

Dear World, He is living,
Do you know his final words?
I know them in eternity–when face to face
And death will have no victory.