To our souls made brittle by constant score keeping

You are the moisture that softens

and washes the record clean;


To our hearts exhausted from carrying the burden of being right

You are the bed that beckons us to rest

and slip into the dream of being loved;


To our minds confused by the logic of law

You are the unreasonable child

who leads us to dance impishly across the lines;


For all this we praise You,

and for the shocking freedom it brings we thank You.