Oh if I could be… void and empty Of all my thoughts and Presuppositions Filter truth to me
Recurring daydream, I’m prostrate in a field Amidst Your creation It’s all around me
Your wind’s a torrent blowing The dead leaves off of my tree Stripped of my filters, maybe I could be learning
Oh if I could hear simple clarity I’m full of hardened misunderstandings And they filter truth to me You are the well of Unmeasured purity And my interpretations Will soon be buried
Your wind’s a torrent blowing The dead leaves off of my tree Stripped of my filters, maybe I could be learning