Your Hands Write History
luna
You spoke to compose my soul, a portrait of your own.
Yet I have no light to give or warmth within my bones.
Are you ashamed of what your hands have made?
Adonai, where are you now?
Am I alone?
- :
- Luna
You spoke to compose my soul, a portrait of your own.
Yet I have no light to give or warmth within my bones.
Are you ashamed of what your hands have made?
Adonai, where are you now?
Am I alone?