Grace is the mercy my soul still seeks, for the sins I sow, their root still reeks.
One day will come the reaping flame, when I face the one who calls my name.
He’ll burn the chaff, the lies, the pride.
The field in flames that devour what dares to hide.
In the smoke that settles beneath my cries, a whisper in the ashes begins to rise.
No step is wasted, no wrong erased, but even ash can bear God's grace.