| Just come on in with me
|
| You gotta think about this
|
| You gotta address this
|
| There’s no accident
|
| With the overloaded of gifts he bestowed me
|
| Thankful for the mind of the universal author who composed me
|
| In the fold of his protective mode he holds me
|
| Chose me to dwell in his abode as if he owed me
|
| But know he’s just gracious and holy
|
| Responsible soley, and out of a dead state, he rose me
|
| Told me too banish the old me
|
| And let the sun cloth me until my roots grow deep at the bold sea
|
| His words and actions are factual
|
| The uncommon is common, and the supernatural is natural
|
| The food is not the start of things the tree is
|
| The process is repeated, the only reason we are is cause he is
|
| Before it becomes physical it’s first of thought
|
| Every individual’s a work of art
|
| They know he never had to rehearse the part
|
| Nothing that no one else can cause the universe to start
|
| Out of thinking can’t compete with his deepness
|
| He feature of every creature born with his own distinct uniqueness
|
| The definition of all know expound my existence
|
| Before my mom knew he formed characteristics
|
| His mind penetrated through time
|
| The infinite song of lives writer who never duplicated a line
|
| The quintessence of every essence
|
| But out of ignorance we question the effectiveness of his methods
|
| You’re brain is what he communicates through
|
| And never forsakes you, and then when you sleep at night he takes you
|
| Then later brings you back and awakes you
|
| Let him create you right on your mental chalk board till he elevates you
|
| He study real hard to comprehend
|
| The universal author, who be gunmen with one pen
|
| Of your type you are the only model
|
| The only living copy of your own real life personal novel
|
| And from the very start he can write them
|
| Even when your lights dim you have the capacity to be like him
|
| So even through high stress, believe in progress
|
| You have to master the reason in process
|
| He’s touchable like a material thing
|
| He has spirit, but he’s not a spiritual being
|
| Not three, not two, one father is true
|
| He’s the author of himself and the author of you |