The sins of the father and the son must be punished
Allow the juries hand to be corrupt and
Dispense their magical omnipotence.

But taste the finality of man as the hammer draws near
To consequence; and question
The strangers leer in corrupt composure.

The judges sweat melds to the handle, he grips
Hard to the justice of his resolve, as
It slips beneath the bench

And now to the audience, you decide
To solidify a man in a statue to justice or
Grant redemption and torments respite.
Because I put to you that,
the sins of the father and the son must be punished.

And so I found you.
Not where I left you,
but still thinking
of me.

And so I found him,
not far away
but right next to me
with open arms.
God
Never abandoned me.
I was the one who left.

A sword beaten by steel hammers and forged in the fire. The arrow thats pulled back before it is sent into the whiles. A collection of hardship and reprove to understand a time.

Where as demons and angels influence all but stagger a man's walk on a thin wire.
A breathe of resiliance and stubborn heart thats entitled to what He think's he deserves until He knows the truth and his speech is soured.

Egregious revalation to what he has done. He has offended the Creator. He has crucified His son. A confession is made and the war is won but the battle for submission is nearly but one.

A sanctification is initiated and a process is begun. This man's action's and word's are revealed by the sun.
The work that takes place is a tedious and time consuming one but the man's character is revealed to himself and to everyone.

He stuggles to find himself and align himself in the will of God. He yearn's for purpose and does'nt see that each moment is purpose that each exchange matter's. Everything is considered in everything he does.

God enables his obediance when God is often sought. This man comes to find that more often it is not. It is a miracle and blessing he has made it this far. More mercy has been offered than one might oblige. More forgiveness and patience. It is a miracle this man has not died.

Our protagonist finally makes it to the frontline. Where he is not perfect but God's will is pursued. This man speak's out and into open air. Where devils and vipers gather like moths to a flare. They come one by one. Collecting like froth on a stagnant bank. They come to hear this man speak but they're heart's are anything but blank.

His words shoot like arrow's never missing thier mark. He uses The Word as a sword slashing every falsehood, piercing every heart.

He continues through the day into evening's dark. There is but one that stayed. There is but one man among them that get's a new start. So the cycle is transfered but the job is not done. The wars is won but the battle is not just one.

-RSC