“In the time of my confession, 
In the hour of my deepest need
When the pool of tears beneath my feet 
Flood every newborn seed
There’s a dyin’ voice within me 
Reaching out somewhere
Toiling in the danger 
And in the morals of despair
Don’t have the inclination 
To look back on any mistake
Like Cain, I now behold this chain 
Of events that I must break
In the fury of the moment 
I can see the Master’s hand
In every leaf that trembles, 
In every grain of sand
Oh, the flowers of indulgence 
And the weeds of yesteryear
Like criminals, they have choked the breath 
Of conscience and good cheer
The sun beat down upon the steps 
Of time to light the way
To ease the pain of idleness 
And the memory of decay
I gaze into the doorway 
Of temptation’s angry flame
And every time I pass that way 
I always hear my name
Then onward in my journey 
I come to understand
That every hair is numbered 
Like every grain of sand
I have gone from rags to riches 
In the sorrow of the night
In the violence of a summer’s dream, 
In the chill of a wintry light
In the bitter dance of loneliness 
Fading into space
In the broken mirror of innocence 
On each forgotten face
I hear the ancient footsteps 
Like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there’s someone there, 
Other times it’s only me
I am hanging in the balance 
Of the reality of man
Like every sparrow falling, 
Like every grain of sand.

Bob Dylan