When thou hast stripped my heart of all its skin
And left me to the wolves to be consumed
Shall I ask what was my mortal sin,
And hast thou never thought I was redeemed?
The pains I suffer I am loth to take
For I have thrashed been in thy machines
And no more can my little heart now break;
As fragmented it giveth forth its screams.
Yet should I be unwilling to accept?
Is it not the case that thou made me?
So shall I sin if I thy will reject,
Not knowing how to live and how to be?
The mystery of suffering is too dark
When shall I see thy living golden spark?
How my heart sings 