Early Wednesday morning I rise and take a breath
I feel my life course through me, but tis a life of death
The sky shrouds itself in solemn mist, as if nature knows the story
How death was chosen over life, and ashes over glory
I sew a fragile garment to hide my shame from ages past
My crude clothing of smile-coated lies...instead of the outward garb of grass
Prepared for my funeral, with black, on black, on black
The golden cross hung 'round my neck shows whom I'm seeking, and says, "There's no going back"
I step out into a world that crumbles beneath my feet
To find sanctuary for my restless soul: a place with Christ to meet
A place where prayers have a scent, and holiness a sound
A place where I can touch my Rock, and feel my Solid Ground
I kneel down to confess my faults, all my own in a multitude
Alone I whisper my many faults, yet I know I'm not in solitude
For all fall short, all shall die, and all shall feel great pain and loss
Today, however, we remember that the ground is even at the cross
As one body we approach the altar, and kneel humbly at the rail
We feel the ashes fall down our face, so dead, so dark, so stale
I breathe the dust from which I'm made, remember my dying frame
Yet this cross of ash, this sign of death, whispers that I shall be born again
'And he said to them all, "If any man come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me."'
