Psalm 137

If I sing, it wouldn't mean a thing.
And if I dance, it wouldn't prove a chance.
If I shout, it wouldn't lift the doubt.
But I will, if just to trust.

We sit in endless sorrow at this river of defeat
We hang our songs in sadness on this tree of memory
Our joys are shapeless shadows these foreign city streets
We’ve fallen prey to mockers and their morbid mockeries

These hands surrender function and this heart it stutters beats
Were I to forget Mount Zion my lips would surely seize
The wreck and rubble of a promise now dust upon our feet
We pray the same on the infant of these wretched godless deeds

I will if just to trust Your will
I will if just to trust Your will is enough, Oh God

Father, this city’s cursed but You bless it with Your Name.
Oh Son, this home is exile but You make it all the same.