He started a company called misery but he didn't get many shareholders.

"could you keep your head up,  when you're losing ground?"

On this day he was feeling the plight of vision-less sight,
recalling α.ω. Tozer's the "result of rejected light",
like an assassin he claimed all the creeds,
till baseless words were exposed by his deeds,
sometimes apparent depth is hollow and deceptive,
one cannot give anything to one who is unreceptive.

Raised in block C and chalala bedrock,
it's time to go Holme,
what went wrong?
investigate like Sherlock,
perhaps it was when he decided there were weightier matters than his gran,
or when he distanced himself from his fam,
or he spent to much time on the gram,
whatever the case let's make it brief,
the young man simply succumbed to utter unbelief.

The wrestle is not a royal rumble,
oh that cornerstone can make a goliath stumble,
all the words he heard at youth camp,
Couldn't speak when folly gave him the sock,
He didn't listen to the people's champ,
Yes,
he made light of the Rock.

That's enough of lamentation,
it is time for a revelation,
creation groans for the manifestation,
tribes and tongues of every nation,
by the power of Christ find true liberation!

Once a time I heard it said,
let the dead bury the dead,
I never quite understood what it meant,
until I felt a numbness in my chest,
a desire to die,
a dream deferred,
a strangled sigh,
a song unheard.

I often feel like I walked in the dark,
Ever since I ran from the wilderness,
with all its doubt, drear and shame,
I never want to go back there again,
I strolled the streets of the cold Cape,
saw men punching and talking to the air,
wondering if they're led by its spirit,
I could almost hear their right minds crying from this coat of confusion,
a caged bird singing,
what could lead them to such a crawl,
each man for himself,
God watch us fall.

A half empty vessel I make noise,
half fool trying to man up and stop boy,
eating plenty but giving few.
know how to be filled,
not how to pour,
know I have wings,
though afraid to sore.

My house was swept but I did not shut the door,
when they were chased they came back with more,
now I'm crying back to sender,
when I opened the door for them to enter,
may we treat our temples with reverence,
masterpieces sculpted from Genesis.

Pain was promised but so was joy,
moths and rust shall not destroy,
the beauty that is beyond fasting from bacon,
the call to a kingdom that can't be shaken.

There may be reason to be in fright,
but he calls us to be salt and light,
ask for strength to fight the good fight,
to mortify the flesh to be filled with Christ.

May we be okay being perceived inferior,
to know there's treasure in our interior,
to learn to find joy in shadows,
to know that only he is hallowed,
let us learn to serve in love,
fix our eyes on things above,
working out in fear and trembling,
God will bring it to an ending,
may condemnation not refrain,
the grace that makes us born again,
when all our deeds are purged by fire,
may we live for a cause that is so much higher,
may it truly be found that we loved The Messiah.

It's time to seek the ancient paths,
to tread along the greener grass,
for time is short,
and life is faster,
may perfume pour through our cracks soon after,
may the Potter jar us like alabaster,
to be worn and wasted by a wicked world,
to replace the fragrance of sin's foul penalty,
to lighten what was once so grim,
to know that suffering will make us more like him.

It's time for speech to turn to traction,
to be whole when feeling fraction,
to be simple and true,
to trust in the dark the one who made hue,
to walk by faith and hope that grace will bring us through,
seek his face when you can't recognize yourself,
he is our friend and ever present help,
he's writing our story,
we are seated on a right hand shelf,
the library of love where his presence dwells,
not by power not by might,
he will help keep us in the light.

If the King emptied himself,
who are we to be full of grief?
should troubles always bring unbelief,
don't we know the one we follow,
the joyful holy man of sorrow,
the pages in our story that none will ever see,
were authored by the one who set us free,
the message in the bottle was meant for we,
open the scrolls and pray we see,
that ours is overwhelming victory,
that we have been given mercy,
to no longer bear the weight of iniquity,
to boldly say we're free indeed.

For wretched were we and far from pretty,
naked in shame and to be pitied,
trusted in things that don't sustain,
in wisdom and teachings that bind our brain,
let's run to the name that will not fail,
the one who leads us from the prison doors,
the one who paved the streets of gold,
for all our losses sevenfold,
the one who bought us with a precious price,
the one who died to give true life,
the prince of the peace who gave us bail,
Hold fast to the truth His Word won't fail.

Was it Medusa or Delilah?
the incision that distorted his vision,
once tore a lion's mouth when grace abounded,
once so confident, strong and grounded,
now he's like a stray dog that's confounded,
he was once empowered,
but his courage cowered to his affliction,
bold until he gave a foothold,
the slavery of sin himself sold.

Has his heir been cut off he ponders?
lost his source of conviction he wonders?
did he stop taking things day by day,
needing every hour?
Did he let that root grow bitter,
to the point he's tasting sour?

He could've broken down false pillars,
now he feels like an empty salt cellar,
better yet a basket case,
can't recognize his master's face.
betrayed himself so greatly,
put his trust in a chariot,
wore the coat of Iscariot.
He knows the past is not a place to dwell,
but he's reminded by a ceaseless thirst,
the by-product of seeking water from a broken wishing well,
discernment had diminished,
he simply couldn't tell,
slowly but surely,
pride was how he fell.
He tried to build it up again,
but to no avail,
perhaps a case of Ichabod,
has the spirit left his tail,
is it hocus-pocus,
the reason he can't focus?
Less time with fellow ironmen,
more marvelling at unfruitful doctrines strange,
identity issues like Ben Tennyson,
perhaps he's gone insane,
he keeps on going in cycles,
his habits hard to change,
or maybe he has lost the upper hand?
because every time the rain falls and the wind blows,
his house just will not stand.

May my dreams not die before I sleep.

I know your to and fros,
your sisters and bros,
how many steps you take each day,
how your face looks,
where you stay,
I know what's best for you,
I don't care if you think it's okay.