Sitting still in the silent sound of crickets,
Ballers catch me out as they hit the wickets,
Looking back on my life in snippets,
Who can save my bones so rickets?
Idol of my heart is self image,
crooked and corrupted by a hidden shame,
fig leaves in my finances,
failing even on second chances,
cover on cover i hide,
don't get too close it's dark inside,
rather fake the mess,
running from nakedness.
Mama, papa i ain't so innocent,
and i can't buy my penitence,
who can look past our misdeeds?
A righteous king who's blood pleads,
always living as he intercedes,
cold recitals of apostles creeds,
won't free us from sin's disease,
we need a change of heart from stone to flesh,
we need to cease from works and find our rest.
So i look up to that cross,
Carrying my shame, my pride, my fears, my lies.
The holy lamb of God crucfied,
And count it all as loss.