God, he gave us invisible things,
like the wind, like love, like music
so we wouldn't always know the breeze from a miracle,
so we'd have to look to see him hiding.
And I pray for the soul of the artist,
that he see how the wind blows off course.
And I pray for the singer and her singing,
it is a humble wish for a preacher man like me.
Would you worship the body that you live in,
or the green inside your pocket?
Would you worship the beauty that you hear
or would you pray before the idol you have sculpted?
And I pray for the soul of the artist,
that he see how the wind blows off course.
And I pray for the singer and her singing,
it is a humble wish for a preacher man like me.
How they fail to see how shallow is the music,
how they make an idol of their melodies.
How they fail to see that everything worth making
has been brought about before our broken feet.
And I pray for the soul of the artist,
that he see how the wind blows off course.
And I pray for the singer and her singing,
it is a humble wish for a preacher man like me.
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