I give you back the things you gave me
Take all of them; they were no gifts.
You called them Truth, but no truth claims them
Like weeds, they drain -- like wood, they drift

I give you back the words you sang me
Of tendriled judgment and tangled praise
Up the heart's walls, growing skywards
Like vines, they creep -- like stalks, they sway

I give you back the self you sold me
Shaped by deception and no sacrifice
You called it the core, but the roots were too shallow
Too dry was the soil -- too high was the price

I give you back all of your garden
The seeds that sprout and buds that grow
I have seen the true sun, and how brightly it's shining
Like Heaven, I rise -- like God, I now know