Huddled in the light of a cellular billboard
A family of four is a nation at war
In her head are the echoes of weeping
Of children the Sunday before

The promises made by her Father
Are no match for hunger's incline

So she fell to her knees as she cried,
'In the Innocent's Corner I'll hide.'
You came around and lifted her up
With the angels beside
Would she be denied

Ours is a land with a terrible shortage
Of harvests to share and breathable air
And a reason to live may be too hard to find
Like a wage or a dime

But we sit here debating the meaning of justice
With self-righteous spin and an upper caste grin
We're still suffocating on quicksand indifference
Where no choice is ever that hard

So she fell to her knees as she cried,
In the Innocent's Corner she'll hide
You came around and lifted her up with the angels beside

The promises made by her Father
Would curb any hunger inside

words and music by Joshua Moore

Behind the Song:
'In Westminster Abbey there is a room not too far left of the main entrance called 'The Chapel of Henry VII.' In this room is a stained glass memorial to the urns beneath it. This is the Innocents' Corner. This, in many ways, is where the album began.

During our 22 hour stint in London on the way to Bombay, the illustrious Aaron Senseman insisted that we visit the abbey of all abbeys. So there, in arguably the world's most breathtaking mausoleum, we stood like cavemen in a spaceship, trying to wrap our minds around the sanctity of the room. The urns hold the alleged bones of Prince Edward and his little brother who were imprisoned, declared illegitimate and murdered by their now infamous Uncle Richard III, all before their 10th birthday. In that moment, the eerie reverberations of a boys choir and pipe organ swirled through the eaves and columns of the knave. Every story, every smile, every oppression, every hope I encountered on all the trips for some reason brought me back to that first stop, and its all too tangible model of the gospel: a place that's quiet but bathed in beautiful music, that's sad but majestic, a memorial to death but a sounding bell to life abundant. It's a place forged by the single innocent for the many guilty and untouchable to find rest, peace and pardon.' - Andrew Osenga (Caedmon's Call)