I was formed a son
within two graveyards.
A tombstone built from
damnation created
from the hands of anguish,
and a tombstone
created from hands
with two piercing holes in each.

I know this, i really do.
I believe this, i really do.  

But, solicit my feelings
to find a broken mirror
of questioned identity
within boundaries of
weakened hearts in
darkened paths.

Align my insanity
as a construct of loneliness.
Or that's what i want
to be thought of me.
Because in the back of my head,
i know it to be selfishness.

I know your light.
I can see it from miles away.
And I know it's good,
I know it's right.
But whenever i see it,
I just look the other way.

Oh God,

If you are the wind to my sails,
Am i taking a knife to them?
If you are the life behind my bones,
Do i seek it's purpose?

Or are my hands
Just digging my own grave.
Because anguish
Is my curse.

Oh savior,
Save me.