I've grown past the point of asking;
"Oh my God, how can this be,
That a sinner in the present,
You let live eternally?
A sorry man,
As me?"
I lift t'thee my woes of sorrow
For having been blind of you.
In place of falsity and death
You lay life, unblemished; true.
A narrow road
of few.
You took our tragic tree of death,
As the sword will beat to plow,
In it you craft the the tree of life.
Injustice; yet mercy. How?
Our devices
made bow.
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