With things going on now at such a pace,
how can I trust,
how can I have faith?
Not worried about losing face
in the face of lust,
with things going on now at such a pace;
not worried it’ll all go to waste—
yet worry I must.—
How can I have faith,
when what I rest my faith in
disappoints? I’ll be hard-pressed,
with things going on now at such a pace
not to die without a trace
black as tar or red as rust.
What faith
mends my strength and sends me forth,
tides me through until the night is spent
when everything finally cancels its pace?
How can I have faith?
