The blood pours out of your every wound,
and flows over each one of mine.
The healing balm of Gilead
provided before time.
Before the night and day began;
Before the firmament
You suffered for the joy we share.
You cried out in lament.
The fire burns in your beautiful eyes,
and calls me to repent.
Shall I forsake everything else,
and serve You till I'm spent?
But what else for reward is there?
What else but your song?
If I retain all I have, without You,
then all I have is gone.
Oh . . .
How much do you love me?
Oh . . .
What do you think of me?
