Death came swiftly
In the womb to us
And we are born just
A pile of bones
Our flesh already in decay
And groaning for the end of days
Cast into the deep

Son of man do you see these bones

And the wind blows where
It wishes and so it is with you
It finds our broken cavern full
And the son of man speaks
The speech of the holiest

Son of man do you see these dry, dry bones

Tendon and sinew knitting
Us together like you knit our hearts together
Like a master restorer
Existential crisis of who is who
And what is what and who am i
In this universe except a pile of dry bones
No longer–we are no longer dry
But wet with the water and blood
And we rise up only to fall trembling

Son of man you still see these bones