The aching is no longer aching.
No, it's fire under my skin and in every breath I take.
The aching has surged to ripping.

YHWH my heart wants to drink in the stories.

There are dollars dripping around me, spent on drinks that comfort
and food that calls me home.

Home is no longer comfortable, these dollars are no longer mine.

Yeshua take them from me, take my time, and my body, and pour me out to the nations.
To the little ones who live in bitter, and the aching bodies that sleep in no home.

They are mine to hold, mine to weep over. I can sleep in this bed no longer.
Food and drink and cloth, for what? I am a queen among the tearing of the world.
My dollars should be bled for the ones who cannot speak.

My dollars will be bled for the ones they do not know.
They are not invisible to me, their cries wake me in my sleep
and my dreams feel their little bodies.

YESHUA forgive us. Forgive me.
I am no longer blind.