There’s a house on a hill

And there’s a broken will

There’s a fire in the hearth

And there’s a chill

There’s a wishing well that’s dry

And a fullness overflowing

There’s a state of grace

And a cloud of unknowing

And the house is barred and shuttered

And overgrown with thorns

And the sound of the ghosts of unborn children

Playing on summer lawns

And the dog is still in chains

Though there’s nothing left to guard

She’s gnawed through the bone of her being alone

And barks at an empty yard

And the moon howls out to the darkness

But the darkness comprehends it not

Blesséd is the man and woman

Who can synchronise what they’ve got!

Who will make it better?

Who will make it right?

And who will explain to the howling moon

The mysterious ways of the night?

Who will lay the fire?

And who will cut the log?

And who will guard the dog?

Who will guard the dog?

We all try to hide our pain

But it drives us more insane

And we try to hide our sin

But it seeps out through the pores in the skin

To cut through a cloak of sin

You’ll need a sword of deepest sorrow

And your emptiness today

Is the fulfilment of tomorrow

And a sorrow that is born

Of holy desire

Strips you to the bone

And washes you with fire

Oh I keep tidying the kitchen

Life’s an endless chore

Keep picking up bits from the carpet

That weren’t there before

And I’m so afraid of the vastness

But I fear being taken in

There’s no-one I’m expecting

But I keep getting ready for him

I am an outcast

Separated from my soul

I’m cut up into pieces

Dying to be whole

Oh I keep thinking without feeling

Like I’m walking on the ceiling

I keep blaming instead of grieving

And staying when I should be

Staying when I should be

Staying when I should be leaving it all

I want Him to cut off my sin

I want Him to gather me in

Beneath His tender axe to be torn

To separate the real me from the worn!

Who will make it better?

Who will make it right?

And who will explain to the howling moon

The mysterious ways of the night?

Who will lay the fire?

Who will cut the log?

And who will guard the dog?

Who will guard the dog?

© Felicity Buirski 1990