| On the precipice of nothing new
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| Fell into question all I held as truth
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| It seems there’s holes in all my fairy tales
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| Despite my passion to preach them well
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| A yell hushed after many long worn years
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| Not a failure to launch, but to persevere
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| Being one so close to write upon my arm
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| A testament I’ve since torn apart
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| All these rings around my wrists
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| How they scream who I am in this
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| I’m not sanctified and I’m not free
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| There’s no love that’s come to rescue me
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| Bend my heart and even break my knees
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| But it’s these chains that are defining me
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| Sin is all I’ve been able to wield
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| It’s been my sword and even been my shield
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| And death O' death is my only home
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| A grave so familiar I could call it my own
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| 'Cause a loving grace could only go so far
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| As to show my wounds and reveal my scars
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| A medicine I’ve taken to get well
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| But the aftertaste is that of my own hell
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| I’m not sanctified and I’m not free
|
| There’s no love that’s come to rescue me
|
| Bend my heart and even break my knees
|
| But it’s these chains that are defining me
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| I met Jesus, yeah he came to me
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| And he said «Son, do you want to believe?»
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| I cried «Oh help me from the grave I’m in,
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| And teach me life and who I really am.»
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| I’m not sanctified and I’m not free
|
| There’s no love that’s come to rescue me
|
| Bend my heart and even break my knees
|
| But it’s these chains that are defining me |