with your guts all out
in the open like you've seen
the dark of the day
Have you always been prying
inside, speaking out
what many hold out
I knew before I could
recognize with my eyes
you'd stare right through
my empty hands
to my overloaded soul
But you sang instead
of God and His love,
of promises I won't
choose to believe
I hoped you'd assume
I was already free
but you were not aroused
nor troubled to ask
if I too was beyond all this
I know you don't have
what you want inside
She- is still an observation
I can relate- He is still-
an outside observation
I, too, can contemplate
His glory, His mystery
but He has left me
with only myself to blame
A point which I will not receive
God knows, I've tried
five years and frustration haunted
my conscience- I am only
what HE has made me
So, sing of distance,
sing of battles lost and won,
keep painting the picture
of truth to a dying world
Compassion is your true gift
I say, it's all good
In my short years
I've yet to hear
a better cause for hope
than the promise of new life
But can they be to blame
if they won't receive
If their scars kill hope
and His Words do not purge
and all He has made abandons Him
I would not blame the creature
Please forgive my words
I don't mean every suggestion
I just feel they ought to be said
And if you write to heal
or to spread out the light
I write to ask forgiveness
for the things I have not done
I write to trouble, hoping
in the end, for His attention
I am the white sheep,
lost in the flock,
wishing He'd seek me out
I am the son who stayed home
longing still for my Father's love
Of all the words you've sang to me
I know these ones the best
"She speaks so much of what she means-
right outside her words..."
But I did not choose the fall
I was born into it
I do not blame me
do you...
7-15-95
