The passions of my heart, like fleeting clouds,
drift aimlessly about caught in the wind,so easily persuaded by the crowds,
my point flopping about unless it’s pinned.
How has the rhino skin become so thinned?
What stirs up firm conviction like a flame?
Where does the grief escape when I have sinned?I look around, wondering who’s to blame.
But there’s one thing I know for sure is true;
the passions of my heart belong to You.