If I should find myself in blackest night,
And fear is stabbin' me all over,
A tiny prayer cracks the dark with light,
And I here sounds behind my wall.
Inside, a still small voice, it calls and calls.
Then like a thunder bolt it falls and falls:
My God!

When life becomes more real than children's games,
Or we've become too old to play them,
We'll grow old gracefully,
We'll hide our shame.

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