[Verse 1] Night wind hums by the riverside, Jacob’s there with a trembling hand, Shadows dance where the moon gets wide, And a stranger steps out of the sand. They twist and they turn like a broken oath, Bodies aching, spirit bare— “Tell me your name,” says the wanderer bold, “But the dawn says rise… and I’m still there.” [Chorus] Oh, wrestlin’ in the dust with angels, Tryin’ to find the truth in the fight— Some folks run from all their shadows, Some meet ’em in the edge of the night. And if the wicked think they’re hidden, Behind their schemes and smoke and lies… The Lord still sees the poor man’s burden, And keeps his tears in the sunrise. [Verse 2] Met my brother on the open plain, Heart like a drum in a thunder roll— Feared his wrath like a burnin’ flame, But he ran to me with a broken soul. Two men cryin’ in the dust of dawn, Old wounds fallin’ like winter rain— Sometimes grace is just a moment long, Sometimes peace is a whisper of pain. [Chorus] Yeah, wrestlin’ in the dust with angels, Tryin’ to walk that crooked line— Some folks hide behind their power, Pretend the world is doin’ fine. But the cries of the poor rise higher, Than any wicked man can climb— And the Judge of the Earth keeps watchin’, Even when He bides His time. [Bridge] Now Dinah’s song is a mournful tune, A ghost wind hums through Shechem’s hills— Justice trembles in a sharpened moon, Brothers ridin’ with a thirst that kills. Violence begets a heavier load, And the blood cries out from the shaken stone— We travel on down a wandering road, Lookin’ for a land we can call our own. [Verse 3] So lift your eyes where the sparrow flies, Where the wicked think they’re standin’ tall— Their golden thrones and their alibis Ain’t worth the weight when the mighty fall. But the Lord remembers every sigh, Every bruise that the humble bear— And the hope we lost in the long goodbye Comes home in a breath of prayer. [Final Chorus] Still wrestlin’ in the dust with angels, Still tryin’ to find the spark inside— If justice seems like a distant stranger, Just wait until the turning tide. ’Cause the songs of the meek rise higher, Than all the schemes of the proud below— And the road keeps windin’ onward, brother, Where the rivers of mercy flow.
