I was formed a son
within two graveyards.
A tombstone built from
damnation created
from the hands of anguish,
and a tombstone
created from hands
with two piercing holes in each.
I know this, i really do.
I believe this, i really do.
But, solicit my feelings
to find a broken mirror
of questioned identity
within boundaries of
weakened hearts in
darkened paths.
Align my insanity
as a construct of loneliness.
Or that's what i want
to be thought of me.
Because in the back of my head,
i know it to be selfishness.
I know your light.
I can see it from miles away.
And I know it's good,
I know it's right.
But whenever i see it,
I just look the other way.
Oh God,
If you are the wind to my sails,
Am i taking a knife to them?
If you are the life behind my bones,
Do i seek it's purpose?
Or are my hands
Just digging my own grave.
Because anguish
Is my curse.
Oh savior,
Save me.
Just an honest evaluation with an honest need for Jesus.