This thing chokes inside,
and breathes without reason
it makes meaning endless
it puts an end to the meaningless
Through form,
and with whisper
there lay the gap
a hole was punctured
with heat and metal
Dear Lord....
if i make good with promise
maybe You could turn back these days
I must own up
to all that I have done
suture this faithless
My faceless disguise
I trust You though
I know that You are of love
the fault is all mine
and I will open for You
I am among you
we are the children of sin
the children of sin and repair