| I clung to miracles I have not seen
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| From ancient autographs I cannot read
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| And though I’ve repented
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| I’m still tempted, I admit
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| But it’s not what bearing witness is
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| Too full of prophecy and fear to see
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| The revelation right in front of me
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| So sick and tired of trying to make the pieces fit
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| Because it’s not what bearing witness is
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| When the gap between
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| What I hoped would be
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| And what is makes me weep for my kids
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| I take a cleansing breath
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| And make a positive confession
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| But is that what bearing witness is
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| Though it may alienate your family
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| And blur the lines of your identity
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| Let go of what you know
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| And honor what exists
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| Son, that’s what bearing witness is
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| Daughter, that’s what bearing witness is |