you are the alpha of my architecture, the omega where my dust meets the flame. your voice, a torrent of many waters, carved the hollow where i speak your name. [pre-chorus] you are the lamb, slain on the cosmic altar, who drank the winepress of my rebellion’s vintage. every breath i waste is a seal you shatter, every psalm i choke on is your blood on the page. [chorus] you hold the seven stars in your right hand you walk among the lampstands of the elect you forged my name in the furnace of your vision before the first stone of the world was set your grace is the two-edged sword from your mouth. it is the crown you wear, not of thorns, but of suns. the chalice spills, a river from your throne, and i was thirsting with the faithless ones. [chorus] you hold the seven stars in your right hand you walk among the lampstands of the elect you forged my name in the furnace of your vision before the first stone of the world was set you are the wound that opens into morning, the scar from which the new creation bleeds. i cannot carry your ancient cross, no you are the rider on the white horse, and i am the dust beneath your steed. [chorus] you hold the seven stars in your right hand you walk among the lampstands of the elect you forged my name in the furnace of your vision before the first stone of the world was set
