Prayer (on my darkest days)

from by Greg Scheer

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December, 1989


I woke up this morning wondering where you are.
I'd like to talk things over and I hope that you're not far away.
Trying to keep my love alive gets to be a chore.
I don't know if you're talking, but I don't seem to hear you anymore.

And even heaven has lost some of it's brightness.
Has it grown dimmer, or have I moved further away?
Heaven seems to lose its brightness on my darkest days.

Perhaps after all, Borchert was right;
"Your voice has grown too dim for the thunder of our times."
Bur maybe it is me who's grown old and blind.
First I lost my innocence, and now there is this mist in my eyes.

And even heaven seems to lose a little luster
as my life on earth becomes more tarnished every day.
Heaven seems to lose its luster on my darkest days.

Maybe doubt's a virtue, maybe it's a sin.
Maybe it's a knock, and I'm asking if you'll let me in
Maybe I'm the only one who feels this way--
the only one who gets lonely, tired, and sad;
but I know how I feel and it won't go away on my darkest days.

Heaven suddenly seems so distant.
How can I hope in something that seems so far away?
I wish that heaven were right here in this instant on my darkest days.


from From the Hand of​.​.​., released January 1, 1992



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Greg Scheer Grand Rapids, Michigan

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