Under His Wings
Under His Wings
Some songs entertain us. Others comfort us. And then, every so often, a song does something rarer: it tells the truth about the soul. Kate Rusby’s “Falling” is one of those songs.
On the surface it is a quiet folk ballad—gentle, mournful, almost weightless. But underneath its soft melody is a voice crying out from a deep place, the kind of place Scripture knows well. It is not hard to imagine this song sitting beside David’s laments, or the desperate prayers of the prophets. In fact, “Falling” feels less like a performance and more like a confession. It feels like a Psalm.
The song begins not with certainty, but with the kind of truth people only admit in solitude:
“You hear me shout when no one’s about
You find me where I can’t be seen…”
That is the first mark of a biblical Psalm: the private cry made holy.
The Psalms are full of prayers spoken when no one is watching—prayers that are not polished, not formal, not “religious sounding.” They are the cries we whisper into our hands. The cries we speak in the car. The cries we hide from friends.
And yet the singer dares to believe this: God hears them. Even when no one else is around. Even when the world cannot see what is happening inside. Even when we feel unseen—even to ourselves—God finds us “where [we] can’t be seen.” It is Psalm 139 in modern clothing: the God who searches, knows, and finds.
The opening verse continues:
“I feel the air flowing for life’s in full swing
So tell me why I cannot breathe?”
This is one of the most devastating lines in the song, because it captures something almost everyone has experienced at some point: the world continues, but you feel stuck. Life is in motion. People are laughing. Plans are being made. The air is full of movement. And yet you can’t breathe.
The Psalms are full of this strange loneliness—this sense that others are living easily while the speaker is drowning in slow, invisible sorrow. The pain isn’t only what is happening inside; it is the confusion of it: Why am I like this? Why can’t I breathe? And then comes the turning point that makes this song feel unmistakably biblical.
The chorus repeats like a refrain from ancient worship:
“And here I am falling
Oh, why am I falling?
Take me to where I belong…”
The Psalms often begin in distress, but they are not merely complaints. They are directional. They are aimed toward God. That is what happens here. The singer is not falling into meaninglessness. She is falling before Someone:
“I’m standing here falling
Before you falling…”
This is the posture of prayer: not standing tall, but collapsing into truth. And the plea is not simply “fix me.” It is deeper. That is not the language of self-help. It is the language of exile and homecoming. It is the cry of a soul that remembers it was made for something more—made for God, made for peace, made for rest.
Then comes the line that changes everything:
“If it weren’t for your wings I’d be gone.”
This single phrase carries the weight of Scripture. In the Bible, “wings” are not just poetic imagery. They are a symbol of divine protection, refuge, and mercy—the God who gathers the weak to Himself. It calls to mind the ancient promise: "Under His wings you will find refuge."
In other words: I survive because You shelter me. Not because I am strong. Not because I am clever. Not because I figured it out. But because You have wings. This is grace: not the reward of the worthy, but the shelter of the helpless.
Later the song gives one of the most honest confessions a person can make:
“My back it aches, my body it breaks
To grow my own wings I have tried…”
This is what the world tells us to do: grow your own wings. Become invincible. Rise above it. Push through. Try harder. Heal faster. Be stronger. But the song refuses to lie. The singer has tried. And her back aches. And her body breaks.
The Bible never asks us to pretend we are self-sufficient. It tells the truth we often resist: We are dust. We are frail. We are dependent. And it is exactly there—where our “own wings” fail—that God’s wings matter most.
Perhaps the most moving part of “Falling” is that it never turns triumphant in a shallow way. It does not wrap pain up with a neat bow. It does not pretend suffering is easy to understand. Like the Psalms, it simply stays faithful to the struggle.
It tells the truth: I am falling. I don’t know why. I can’t breathe. I’ve tried. I’m tired. I’m breaking.
And then it tells another truth, even deeper: You hear me. You find me. You have wings. Without You, I’d be gone.
That is what makes the song feel Christian—not that it is “religious,” but that it is relational. It is spoken to a “You.” It is a prayer disguised as a folk song.
And maybe that is the greatest gift of “Falling”: it gives language to those who cannot find their own words. It reminds us that prayer does not have to be eloquent. It can be as simple as a repeated plea: Take me to where I belong.
Kate Rusby’s “Falling” is proof that the Psalms were never meant to stay trapped on ancient pages. Their spirit keeps reappearing—in songs, in whispers, in tears, in the quiet hours when we are alone and adrift.
And if you have ever felt like you were falling, this song offers the same hope the Psalms always offer: Even in your weakness, you are not alone. There are wings.
Falling (by Kate Rusby)
You hear me shout when no one's about
You find me where I can't be seen
I feel the air flowing for life's in full swing
So tell me why I cannot breathe?
And here I am falling
Oh, why am I falling?
Take me to where I belong
I'm standing here falling
Before you falling
If it weren't for your wings I'd be gone
Time moves on and time won't be long
In time I will fear not the day
I'm endlessly knowing that you'll never know
What I might want you to say
And here I am falling
Oh, why am I falling?
Take me to where I belong
I'm standing here falling
Before you I'm falling
If it weren't for your wings I'd be gone
My back it aches, my body it breaks
To grow my own wings I have tried
And painless I came, now aimless remain
Alone and adrift on the tide
But here I'm still falling
Oh, why am I falling?
Take me to where I belong
I'm standing here falling
Before you falling
If it weren't for your wings I'd be gone
And here I'm still falling
Oh, why am I falling?
Take me to where I belong
I'm standing here falling
Before you falling
If it weren't for your wings
If it weren't for your wings I'd be gone