Callin out for the lost, but the lost causes repeat it. Call droppin back down on me, I’m callin back out for healing. Callin for backup breathin. Screamin like babies teethin. Lungs collapsing like London Bridges and black freedom.
Give me the toughest level, blind me, tell me to beat it. I see it- the intricate conspiracy to rip from me my courage, and stir up the grave like horses, allow my fears to flourish. But I don’t actually have fears, I shot em all in the head. These things that are assaulting me, are zombie, they’re really dead. They’re coming for my life. To pull me into the night. To take their heart of darkness and supplant my heart of light.
I wake with warm thoughts, but cold soul. Tight walking through the air with no rope. This faith gave me everything, so I give em a show. But these stunts, are not performances of pointlessness, this story is how I pointedly see and articulate my hope.
But when the crowd leaves, guess who’s the fallen tree- me. Shakin not stirring kryptonite give Superman a drink- geez. Didn’t I just save the world? Pour my life out for the boys and girls? Sanctify these women, restore men to the spiritual?
I don’t want the credit, and I sure don’t want no glory. I’m cursed by the plague of Moses- leading my people to the promise, by wandering around slowly. This is war, and I fight. In the face of death, I give life. Yet when depression hits all I do is roll over on my side…
Daily given the opportunity of strengthening the inner me, but one way or another I’m starting to think-
You just can’t beat misery.