I think I smell the sunset

Think I feel the close of day

Clean shaven correspondents

Are all crowded at the gate

Smell the oil from their torches

Their voices growing more irate

Shepherds' staves are crooked

Leading every crooked way

All the sheep block their doors

They're pulling down their shades

The faithful looking in their mirrors

The fateful growing old and gray



But I look at You

Your eyes are clear and bright

I see your face

It's an amazing sight

Your glory, Lord

Is still a burning light

The light that all our faithless hands

Could never dim



Think I feel the sunset

Think I smell the death of day

People laughing at a funeral

People dancing at a wake

And all the seasons blend together

This birds loosing feathers everyday



And everybody's tired and scared

And begging unbelief

But You have yet to break a sweat

No You're not afraid

You're not afraid

You're not afraid



Think I feel the sunset

Think I feel the close of day

Shepherds' staves are crooked

Leading every crooked way

People laughing at a funeral

And people dancing at a wake