| Song | All Creatures |
| Artist | Josh Garrels |
| Album | Lost Animals |
| All creatures of our God and King | |
| Lift up your voice and let us sing | |
| O praise Him! O praise Him! | |
| Alleluia. | |
| Creation sent to me the centipede | |
| To witness the complexity | |
| Of one hundred legs that were moving unexpectedly | |
| Ironically, just as they were meant to be | |
| They’re fearfully and wonderfully made | |
| An organism prays in circadian rhythms | |
| The sun will rise, and the sun will set | |
| The sun will rise again so lift up your head | |
| This is life, not a static object preserved and displayed | |
| Like a relic of the dead | |
| You are not a fruitless tree with a rootless disease | |
| Growin’ in a bucket in a rich man’s home | |
| Next to the TV, tamed and alone | |
| Learnin’ to lust for the things you don’t own | |
| Like an armchair warrior who’s been dethroned | |
| Declawed and fixed | |
| Fightin’ for your life with unattended slit wrists | |
| Don’t let your name get intermingled with a number | |
| Cause it’s time to awaken from the devilish slumber | |
| And freely follow the forerunner to the Fatherland | |
| And rally ‘round the Renaissance man | |
| And the wisdom of His ways | |
| And all the work of His hands | |
| Catch come as catch can | |
| Concentrating on the good words of the Son of Man | |
| The plan is to withstand the demands of a confused oppressor | |
| A wolf in sheep’s clothes with monotonous lectures | |
| And questionable gestures | |
| Unequal measures | |
| Cultural pressures | |
| And synthetic textures | |
| Force fed instead of the most beautiful architecture | |
| Of our long lost, forgotten origins | |
| Earth, seed, fiber and the blood of my kin | |
| And that old rock where we confessed our sins | |
| Oh, my God, fellow man, and this great land | |
| They all cry out for full restoration | |
| And this will take patience | |
| And this will take the tribes and tongues of all the nations | |
| And all of creation groans in anticipation | |
| Waitin’ for the Son of God to be manifest | |
| And I can feel it burnin’ in my chest | |
| The liberation for the oppressed | |
| And it’s beautiful like the feet that bring good news | |
| It’s beautiful like this freedom tune | |
| It’s beautiful like the power to choose, to change | |
| Beautiful like the long awaited rain | |
| Beautiful like the healing pains | |
| Beautiful like to holy flames | |
| Coming down | |
| All creatures of our God and King | |
| Lift up your voice and let us sing | |
| O praise Him! O Praise Him! | |
| Alleluia |
| All creatures of our God and King | |
| Lift up your voice and let us sing | |
| O praise Him! O praise Him! | |
| Alleluia. | |
| Creation sent to me the centipede | |
| To witness the complexity | |
| Of one hundred legs that were moving unexpectedly | |
| Ironically, just as they were meant to be | |
| They' re fearfully and wonderfully made | |
| An organism prays in circadian rhythms | |
| The sun will rise, and the sun will set | |
| The sun will rise again so lift up your head | |
| This is life, not a static object preserved and displayed | |
| Like a relic of the dead | |
| You are not a fruitless tree with a rootless disease | |
| Growin' in a bucket in a rich man' s home | |
| Next to the TV, tamed and alone | |
| Learnin' to lust for the things you don' t own | |
| Like an armchair warrior who' s been dethroned | |
| Declawed and fixed | |
| Fightin' for your life with unattended slit wrists | |
| Don' t let your name get intermingled with a number | |
| Cause it' s time to awaken from the devilish slumber | |
| And freely follow the forerunner to the Fatherland | |
| And rally ' round the Renaissance man | |
| And the wisdom of His ways | |
| And all the work of His hands | |
| Catch come as catch can | |
| Concentrating on the good words of the Son of Man | |
| The plan is to withstand the demands of a confused oppressor | |
| A wolf in sheep' s clothes with monotonous lectures | |
| And questionable gestures | |
| Unequal measures | |
| Cultural pressures | |
| And synthetic textures | |
| Force fed instead of the most beautiful architecture | |
| Of our long lost, forgotten origins | |
| Earth, seed, fiber and the blood of my kin | |
| And that old rock where we confessed our sins | |
| Oh, my God, fellow man, and this great land | |
| They all cry out for full restoration | |
| And this will take patience | |
| And this will take the tribes and tongues of all the nations | |
| And all of creation groans in anticipation | |
| Waitin' for the Son of God to be manifest | |
| And I can feel it burnin' in my chest | |
| The liberation for the oppressed | |
| And it' s beautiful like the feet that bring good news | |
| It' s beautiful like this freedom tune | |
| It' s beautiful like the power to choose, to change | |
| Beautiful like the long awaited rain | |
| Beautiful like the healing pains | |
| Beautiful like to holy flames | |
| Coming down | |
| All creatures of our God and King | |
| Lift up your voice and let us sing | |
| O praise Him! O Praise Him! | |
| Alleluia |