The Prodigal Son Lyrics

"There he comes forth, returns;
The son once lost is found."

How deep the knife that twists through living's ceaseless churn,
The great unyielding subservience wrought its ill return.

Abandoned now, your other son, the labour in the field,
Forgotten all the years of toil, in deference to you

How much does mercy weigh, in measures of the soul?
And how long can we stay, in containment's lost control?

"Come, rejoice, the feast awaits."