The one who crafted this grace, it's His,
My soul, it thirsts for the Divine's kiss.
The one who crafted this grace, it's His,
My soul, it thirsts for the Divine's kiss.
The one who crafted this grace, it's His.
The moth, its heart ablaze for the flame,
Ignoring all, consumed by love's game.
The moth, its heart ablaze for the flame,
Ignoring all, consumed by love's game.
Who can hold back the flowing stream?
It merges back with the boundless sea,
This longing, in all, a burning decree,
The one who crafted this grace, it's His.
To whom attachment is held so dear,
Towards them, the pull is ever near.
To whom attachment is held so dear,
Towards them, the pull is ever near.
Nature's ways, they never depart,
No trickery plays a cunning art,
This truth, it echoes from eternity,
The one who crafted this grace, it's His,
My soul, it thirsts for the Divine's kiss,
The one who crafted this grace, it's His,
The one who crafted this grace, it's His.
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