when my well is dry and   i feel nothing and in my   heart i'm still searching   for something and in the morning   when i come from the mountains   the smell of   the rain is on my witness   and in the valley the    sparrows sing of comfort   but my heart is weakened   still i am willing but my   flesh is weak i come back   to the throne but when i fall down he   comforts me and he picks me up and   when i look back and all i see is one   set of footprints he carried me in the   splash and rain of whitewash i hear a   voice that speaks into thunder but soft   enough for creation to hold a part of me