With brokenness

We bring our fears

From our heart's bitter stream

We pour out tears

On the altar of consecration we lay

Faults and weaknesses, errors and distractions

Piled up in this temple made with clay

Giving up thoughts and wayward passions

With feeble hands, we lift THE BLOOD

Breaking grounds of faulty foundations

Cutting horns that keep our head low in the mud

Ready to take our place among the nations

We look to the rock from where we were hewn

And into the pit from where we were dug, we fix our gaze

Guarding our hearts in preparedness

To come into relevance and build

An army that will break the bonds of wickedness