A tire in your bones. Those craving for spirit have not much to hope for but hope itself
Attaining belief for the sake of it and that it shall grant you rest
For blind faith speaks more of blindness than the faith
As the blind are familiar with scent and recognise with a caress and love nonetheless for they are, in the end, on the losing end
Every year ago we were simpler, reminiscing, be we bitter, sweet or guilty in it's wake
Binding to a time that still does not wait
Still I hold on to you until I've manifested my soul into thoughts that in the end, cannot testify for my sake
You can, you could talk to the Father for me
Will you do so after how you've seen me live?
Would you do it if you knew that His seats have a limit?
Or would you have me the last one standing?
My penance was carrying my own weight when I could have given it up had I known how.
It was the journey to realising what I knew as a child; the innocence of self-doubt and not its' power
It was coming back from a foreign place after loving it long enough to miss home
To the mark on those of you who do not know me...would you care to look at me with pity or praise that I hide behind God?
When it's more that He walks before me. What will it be? Respect or derision? Cowardice or blind faith?
