All's Lonely on the Western Front


Cold and wicked thoughts, like fingers made of chalk, come and cloud my mind at night,
I lay me down to sleep and pray the Lord my soul to keep, but any rest is filled with fright. 
I’m as ashamed as a rib-kicked dog.
Proverbial phrases, amphetamine hazes, are the only dreams I dream, 
I concentrate and try to wash it all away, with the thought of your torrential stream.
May your Spirit grant me wings.

And all that I pray is that I will grow old enough to know You, 
for in doing so I will grow old and finally find my youth.
So grant me a woman who’ll be Your hands and feet;
One with a big heart and spiritual talk that cuts into me like lion’s teeth.

Every single day is basket of wasted rays, for a man who can’t work his eyes,
So I silently wait, in ever-screaming pain, for someone to save my life. 
(Who’s there? Who’s there? Who's there? Speak your name!)
Lo and behold, my nerves sense warmth through the cold, an ever blessed King, 
Light in blinded eyes, my sin realized, he will wash away everything,
There is the taste of victory in my broken bones. 

And all I can think is to constantly thank the bless’d indention in my bed, 
A hand keeping taught my life’s weathered thread, 
So praise be to He whose name is sweet to sing
He in whom I believe. 
Where it not for him, these words would form a wasted steam, 
But now they cut like Lion’s teeth.


A Burgeoning Bloom

Popular tracks