| So self-sufficiency dies hard, right?
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| But when rightfully humbled, God shows up in burning bushes
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| May we step into the fray like «I got something to say»
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| May we hold no armies, no weapons, no ceremonial authority
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| Just a walking stick of an old-timer and not an ounce of fear
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| May we have a faith birthed out of a revelation of promise
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| A reflex caused by what you know to be true of God
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| Life is not a comic book
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| There are no perfect victims or villains, just us
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| We are smog-laced oxygen tanks tossed to capsize murderers
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| Resting on his power of deliverance and the integrity to accomplish it
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| May I stand in the belly of what Babylon is biting
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| In the vein of the best metaphor of what love exists for
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| May my legacy be permanently associated with those hated
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| An exodus from Exodus with zero concern for what Pharaoh thinks
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| May we be crooked champions
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| And we are not those without hope or hoping in hope alone
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| Resurrection shows that this land is not our home
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| We are sojourners living out what a past action bought us
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| With the knowledge that we have yet to see the fullness of what it got us
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| All of creation groaning, labor aches and pains
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| Like the crushing of a planet’s moon could make Saturn’s rings
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| My crooked soul covered in blood stains
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| Blessing is a perspective, the ironic gift of cancer
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| If I could bottle the feeling where every morning’s a blessing
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| 'Cause every breath could be your last one man, that’s the answer
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| Be patient with one another, be gracious 'cause our time is short
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| Remember you too were once in darkness 'fore he brought forth
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| Christ the hope of glory sealed our eternity
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| Purchased permanently, by only Him worthy
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| But my mouth has yet to catch up with what my heart knows
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| And my heart is still lightyears behind my library, it’s scary
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| There’s no plaques on my wall
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| 'Cept the influence I had on those with plaques on they wall
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| It could leave a man salty like «when it finna be my turn?»
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| And a lower me is leaning towards an attitude beneath me
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| And I am just like them, a systemic participant
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| Longing for escape and hoping in salvation
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| Yeah, hoping in salvation
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| Waiting for the day He make the crooked way straight
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| We march on a crooked road
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| And we raise our eyes
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| And we raise our eyes
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| Justice is going to roll
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| Like a river wide
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| Like a river wide
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| Glorious state of our soul’s gentrification
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| But the purchaser ain’t put us out, he paid all our mortgages
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| And repaved the streets and found homes for the orphans
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| Once under the thumb of an unbearable slum lord
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| Dumb son of a gun said rescue could never come lord
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| And we all believed him and took matters into our own hands
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| And made a filthy mess of our own homelands
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| And crimes of survival, they were proof of a flawed system
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| And we only got ourselves to blame, our cheating little hearts
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| But the hope of trans-cultural love and acceptance
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| That erased racism and sexism, the blessed
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| Day we don’t look down on the poor like we ain’t like them
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| And they not us and gender ain’t fodder for suicide among us
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| The already but not yet, so we look for it with joy and anticipation
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| For when the time keeper comes soon and make the crooked way straight
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| We march on a crooked road
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| And we raise our eyes
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| And we raise our eyes
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| Justice is going to roll
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| Like a river wide
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| Like a river wide
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| I’m really starting to enjoy my alone time as I’m getting older
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| I’ve started to notice I’m becoming more introverted
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| Tryna declutter
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| Finding I don’t need a lot of stimulus to get me over
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| And you can turn the track down
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| I like it when the level’s even in my head
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| Sometimes I find the volume is peaking in my brain
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| Stays in the red and it’s not sustainable
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| Help me to remember peace of mind
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| Despite what would be happening
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| And hold on to the quiet
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| Remember the quiet
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| Help me remember the quiet
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| Remember the quiet |