Underneath the outer layers we're progressing, like the rivers ever moving to the sea,
As the Earth and all of Heaven is declaring, so are we.

As the potter's wheel is turning we are moulded,
So, the chisel of the sculptor sets us free,
Being fashioned in the image once intended, endlessly.

No standing, no standing still,
No standing, no standing still.

As the wind is blowing, Spirit in us moving,
For the work that once began will reach an end,
And the end is really only the beginning, as we ascend.

No standing, no standing still,
No standing, no standing still.

As the potter's wheel is turning we are moulded,
So, the chisel of the sculptor sets us free,
Being fashioned in the image once intended, endlessly.

No standing, no standing still,
No standing, no standing still,
No standing, no standing still,
No standing, no standing still.