|
Outside these city walls I sing |
|
while the sparrow sleeps. |
|
These hands couldn't raise any higher. |
|
This heart couldn't find a deeper hole. |
|
With your blood on my hands, |
|
I speak more about you than with you. |
|
The work of my hands is not yet my prayer. |
|
If a song is just a song, will my voice be heard. |
|
You who are so close |
|
if you would ask, then ask |
|
how high could one man's praises raise? |
|
My lips are longing for the kiss of your praises. |
|
Outside these city walls |
|
I sing while the sparrow sleeps. |
|
These hands couldn't raise any higher. |
|
This heart couldn't find a deeper hole |
