its pace no present to find,
this chaotic contribution,
controlling patterns in my mind,
thrown by distant sorrows,
tossed by past times,
but You meet me in my muck,
You stand white while knee deep in mire mine,
You don't let go, you say you won't,
when I know I'm sinking deeper,
You don't let go, I know you won't,
as the hope you lend sees clearer,
this pit, you see, has not swallowed me,
instead I'm owned by grace,
each day remind, by those things I am ill defined,
these shackles, through mercy, I shake
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