The moaning things lean forward in the creaking house at the beginning of a long night.
Called forth by the drone of sound which stirs the woodwork and chipped paint, culture's Children of Ink close their eyes and open their hearts groping forth to touch the God of life. Sad spirits darkened in mind slur forth an incommunicable utterance bespeaking their human need for God within their hearts. Open their eyes and close off their brokenness with the balm of of Your deliverance. Amen.
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