Clean Me In The Flood (draft)

The garden is empty,
Ashamed and naked we stand,
Under an artist God's thumb,
Trying to nurture a fallow land

How lovely is your dwelling place,
Enchanted though it may be,
With each and every ear to the ground
Listening for a God who cannot be seen

Dust to glory, and so on and on,
Of the earth we are but salt
The only light won't show itself
So the world is now our fault

We are but a temple with a mouth
Trying to rid itself of the taste of blood;
Starving and bathing in the dust itself
Come, cleanse me in the flood