My lazy sticks strike out in pairs,
Heavy beams swinging so slowly to,
A measured grab that drips with spice,
Sweet ruby droplets found on sticky rice,
The Sun is slipping slowly by,
An evening on the grass with friends.

With Him we died and in Him we rise,
Of old no sniff or scent,
Of chains no rust or clank,
Of sin no sting and hades meek and breached,
Oh praise the Living Lord!
Oh praise Him with your lives,
He gives grace to the humble,
And wretched - more grace!
Oh praise the Living Christ!

Mouth agape by dying star,
And it glows red with raging swansong,
Bristling the rygo-sand,
Washed in awe: the young boy long gone,
Nestled in a weaving mesh,
Of pipes and tubes that make strong hollow bones,
And cowards face the wrath of giants boiling.