My G-d, my savior
Who, in the valley of slaughter
When so many, my betters, fell
To my right and to my left,
Stamped the mark of life
Upon my brow
The brow of a lowly
And unworthy man
For who is to tell You
What to do?
And from then
Every throb of my heart
Is a psalm of thanks to You
My every breath of life
A song to Your name
Over this one thing
I implore You:
That my cup of gratitude
With a tear is laced
A tear of anguish and mourning
For the millions
For whom Your cloud muted
Their screams issuing
From the pits of death
I implore You
Over the echo of sorrow
In the trumpet of my praise
Over the trickle of pain
In my outpourings of thanks
Please
Forgive the tear
