Here it is dark, a place of endless night.
There is no sun or moon, or even starlight.
Dry, dusty bones lie scattered on an endless plain
Where the wind never blows, and the clouds never rain.
Dry, dusty bones as far as the horizon;
Endless, breathless dead – what horror to gaze on.
They heeded the serpent, the father of lies;
They each went their own way, and dying they died.
They each went their own way, but still ended here.
All roads lead to this place when guided by fear.
Fear of the Righteous One, fear of the Son,
Fear of the Holy One; run sinner run!
Your fear is the wrong fear; you don’t fear in love.
You fear in your hate for the One from above.
You fear He will change you; make you submit
To His perfect will – your autonomy quit.
Run to this valley of bones, pursuing your death;
Run from the Life-giver, the Giver of Breath.
Join your bones to these, you who deny that you run;
You deny the Father; you reject the Son.
But even here He pursues you; even here seeks you out.
Among these dry, dusty bones He wanders about,
Does He seek you for good? Does He seek you for ill?
When He calls your name submit to His will.
A blinding Light; a breath of Wind:
How came they to this benighted land?
He has come here, full of life;
He has come here for a wife.
He seeks a wife, spotless and pure,
Among these dry, dusty bones He seeks for her.
Does the Wind lead Him, or He lead the Wind?
Among these dry, dusty bones who can He find?
