we long for what never seems to come
deep and hollow, emptiness takes its place
we pray for what never seems to come
within the storm there's a still, small silence
speaking when we don't know what to say
its echo grows and thunders from inside of us
that song itself is the gift of grace
never seem to shake this restless feeling
reaching for what we never seem to touch
our prayers bounce and echo off the ceiling
we reach for hands we never seem to touch
within the storm there's a still, small silence
speaking when we don't know what to say
its echo grows and thunders from inside of us
that song itself is the gift of grace
