When you came to me
The Angels did shout
I put a block on the enemy,
And to hurt you I wouldn't allow
I took you under my arms to
Shield and protect you from harm
And all the comfort you needed,
You could find it in my arms
I wiped away your tears all
The nights you sat and cried
I gently took my finger and
Dried your weeping eyes.

I listen to all your problems and
Had compassion in my heart
And now you turn your back
To me, pulling me apart.
I’m calling all backsliders
To come back home
I don’t care what you did;
I forgive you for your wrong

I’m calling all backsliders
To come back and live
All my riches and
Love I have to give
I watched over you,
And refuse to let you go
My spirit followed you,
And this you failed to know.
I’ll be your shelter and
Never leave you alone,
I’m calling all backsliders to
Turn around and come back home.

There’s no grace for a sinner here.
In this little white room,
with the little white girls
and the good little boys.
They all cast the stones, cracking
my fragile bones,
and making my dress quite black.

There’s no place for a sinner here.
Where they all look the same,
all out to tame us,
damning us all to hell.
Technicalities steal pride, and
Legality’s crushing tide
forces our dignity to fall.

There’s no room for a sinner here.
You’ll do as you’re told.
Dare ask why and you’re bold;
never to make much in life.
Backsliders are peered on
over pretty noses apparently smeared on,
by simplicity and a bit of wine.

There’s no peace for a sinner here.
Perfect footprints are left over,
those lively blueprints we pored over
through many a midnight candle.
Both innocence and experience
leave them incensed and indignant.
keeping our consciences guilted.

There’s no rest for a sinner here.
Enjoyment is frivolous,
laughter is selfish,
and love must be evil incarnate.
If this is what perfect,
must look like, then I’m perfect-
ly happy with the mess that I’ve made.