Music Of The Bows
I hear the sounds of the rain,
Warring against the grains…
Crippling all the chains,
Till they are slain, every vain!!
It’s the music of the bows,
When they prick the dermis…
When the strike of His arrow blows,
It’s a chase without a bliss!!
For there’s a melody undesired,
When man and His maker meets…
And Jah he heats the heats,
In the fryer is a fire that he wired!!
The strings strain at the mold of the clay,
When the potter with His fingers play!
But for the joy set before, the vessel must endure,
From the lure, to the cure, then the pure!!
Then there’s a bloom from a tomb,
When man endured his groom!
And the music of his bows blows,
Though man has died, it’s that he rose!