In the time of my confession, In the hour of my deep listening, The bitter pool beneath my feet, Flugs every new home to see. There's a dying voice within me, Reaching out somewhere, Tawling in the dangers, And in the mind of despair. I don't have the inclination To look back on any mistakes. I cannot now recall the chain of events That I must face. In the fury of the moment, I see the masters hand. Every leaf that trembles, Every grain of sand. All the flowers of indulgence, And the weeds of yesterday, By criminals they have choked the breath Of conscience and good cheer. And now the song beats down Upon the steps of time To light the way, To ease the pain of vitalness And the memory of decay. I gaze into the doorway of temptations and reflame. Every time I pass that way, I always hear my name. And onward in my journey, I begin to understand. The every hair is numbered Like every grain of sand. I have gone from rags to riches In the darkness of the night, In the violence of a summer's rain In the chill of a wintery light. Now the bitter tears of loneliness They're streaming into space Like the broken wheel of innocence On each forgotten face. I hear the ancient footsteps Like the motions of the sea. Sometimes I love there's someone there Other times it's only me. I am hanging in the balance Of the reality of the man. Like every sparrow falling Like every grain of sand. I hear my name.