I used to think
Art was made
Up on high
No need to try
That God above
Blesses his love
Up on one man
Into his hand
What exists has always been
And what will be has always been before
From an everlast this will come to pass
Now I know
Art is low
Made with the hands
It's no promised land
Practice your hand
And fan the flame
For God is love
Her cup is clay
What exists has always been
And what will be has always been before
From an everlast this will come to pass