I sing for joy and my remorse.
A well within prosperity's curse.
That drowns the mighty oak of pride but feeds the root of God inside.

In You I find my rest.
In You I find my death.
In You I find my all & my emptiness.
Somehow it all makes sense.

In You I'm rich when I've been made poor.
Comfort found when I mourn.
The prideful one, You see from afar.
Drawing near to low, broken hearts.

In You I find my rest.
In You I find my death.
In You I find my all & my emptiness.
Somehow it all makes sense.
In You

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