In the Year That King Uzziah Died

Hear the voices of martyrs!

As their blood is crying out from the grounds
The lands on which we plan for our future
Are the lands that hold their sounds
They live in fear of slavery or death
Day after day living while holding their breath
But they won’t be stopped by the kings’ decree
For the sons are free

What about the worries of the fat ones

Who are blessed with milk and honey?
For the glories, they had once
Are being exchanged for silk and money
The temple has been turned into a forcing house
While hunters and thieves are courting the spouse
For some goats, this drama is playful
But we still can hear the voices of the faithful

The inheritance seems so far away

And calamity seems to be their song for today
Have we forgotten that we have been sojourners
Since the day we ceased to be gardeners?
Our expulsion from paradise birthed this wilderness wandering
‘‘Twas a great price for our father’s squandering
And the journey is yet to continue until a second coming
When the one who seats upon a throne is revealed as the one and only king.