they are sick, they are poor. and they die by the thousands and we look away. they are wolves at the door. and they're not going to move us or get in our way.
Come all you weary with your heavy loads. Lay down your burdens, find rest for your souls. 'Cause my yoke is easy and my burden is kind. I'll take yours upon me and you can take mine.
Dear Prodigal, you are my son and I. Supplied you not your spirit but your shape. All Eden's wealth arrayed before your eyes. I fathomed not you wanted to escape.