Why do you close your hand to me despite
our suffering? Why do we wail apart in
madness, delusion, immeasurable addiction,
seclusion, isolation and depression? Why
might the night pass restless? I plead
and pray, I am not the ninety-nine men
that don't need saving. Is this salvation
ever granted? Do we toil on endlessly
without respite from sin? Without refuge
from the howling, serpentine storm that
assails us? Sometimes it seems an unfailing
love cannot exist. Why do you close your
self before my confession? Am I losing
faith despite long and tremendous effort?
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