All Things New (feat. John Mark McMillan)

Blessed are those who mourn,

Who lie upon their kitchen floor,

Calling out with whispered whimpers into the night.

Blessed are those who have confessed

That not everything is alright.

Blessed are those who stopped pretending

Who fell against the unforgiving, immovable Weight of an ending.

Blessed are the lives that have been seasoned with the salt of tears

When their greatest fear came to pass,

Blessed are those who don’t wear masks,

With eyes that still bear the scars of seeing too much,

Blessed are those who have reached into the fire and touched the blue flame of grief,

Who gave up needing to find the right words to speak.

Blessed is the one who didn’t get over it,

Blessed is the one who feels alone in it,

Who walks down shopping aisles

With a lump in their throat offering smiles to the passerby That will never know the whole of it.

We put flowers by their gravestones

We stood for hours whilst the Jackdaw crowed

We raised a glass of our whiskey and our woes

Singing All things shall be made new

Blessed are those who can’t face tomorrow

Who feel the hollow weight of each morning,

A new day adorned with all that could have been. Blessed are those who have tasted joy mingled with sorrow

Blessed is the one who has buried their dreams.

For they shall be comforted.

And confronted with a God that has been bruised

That has bleeds and knows the ache

Of being made to look a fool.

They shall stain God's shirt with tears

As they are held

They’ll see heaven having walked through hell

Forsaking illusion for the truth

They have been shaken like trees,

Bending and bowing

In the presence of a great wind

But have not lost their roots

They still stretch out their limbs,

In fragility and in strength

Reaching out for help and reaching out in awe

For wonder is not void of sorrow and does joy not dance with grief?

Is absence not the evidence of a presence that transcends space and time and speech?

The poet comes up empty I have no words left to speak

So we place flowers down at their feet

At the grave where they now sleep,

Buried in the soil just like a seed

That will rise when spring arrives

And robs winter of it’s pride

We close our eyes only for a time,

The diamond’s immortalised

Surly as the morning comes

We’ll meet upon the other side

We put flowers by their gravestones

We stood for hours whilst the Jackdaw crowed

We raised a glass of our whiskey and our woes

Singing All things shall be made new