good song in all of us are in the family of good

Not Finished Yet

If you like the music please share & subscribe, thanks!

https://youtu.be/Cac99_DW1vA
https://www.youtube.com/@theartificialhomewreckers
https://soundcloud.com/theartificialhomewreckers
https://open.spotify.com/artist/0TuHLZaDhxt6bLGZGKukJ7
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/the-artificial-home-wreckers/1787896253
https://theartificialhomewreckers.bandcamp.com/
https://theartificialhomewreckers.com/

[Verse 1]
I crank my midnight motor, draggin’ smoke-soaked rebel air,
Pocket full o’ busted quarters, jukebox hymns of raw despair;
You said, “Roll up with the dents, kid—grace ain’t scared of heavy road,”
So I’m sparkin’ bourbon comets, preachin’ mercy as my code.
[Chorus]
Gonna stall these iron stallions at that clapboard chapel gate,
Press my palms on humming tanks, unload this outlaw weight;
Let this bottle be the body, let this burden stamp my fate,
I’ll pour it out like midnight wine and leave an empty plate.
Here I stand—shattered man—itchin’ for a clean slate.
[Verse 2]
Townies swear I’m wastin’ treasure, drownin’ what they call a friend,
But every swallow’s shackled iron, drags the daylight to its end;
Tried to weld my world together with a pride left on the shelf,
Turns out rust won’t hold a heartbeat—Lord, I can’t fix my self.
[Chorus]
Gonna stall these iron stallions at that clapboard chapel gate,
Press my palms on humming tanks, unload this outlaw weight;
Let this bottle be the body, let this burden stamp my fate,
I’ll pour it out like midnight wine and leave an empty plate.
Here I stand—shattered man—itchin’ for a clean slate.
[Verse 3]
I traded moonshine’s afterburn for the sweetness of the rain,
Pistons drum salvation rhythms, drowning whispers of the pain;
I’m carving Sunday highways in a ribbon made of tar,
With scripture on the dashboard, chasing grace that’s runnin’ far.
[Bridge]
Throttle shouts hosanna, tailpipes spit a gospel fire,
Mile-markers ring like church bells, asphalt sings a back-road choir;
Devil’s hitchin’ roadside—let him walk that melting tire,
’Cause Your grace just topped the tank and hot-wired every wire.
[Final Chorus]
Yeah, I parked those iron stallions at that clapboard chapel gate,
Left the ghosts inside the bottle to evaporate their weight;
Where the liquor was the body and the burden sealed my fate,
Now the gravel tastes like manna on redemption’s silver plate.
Here I stride—ratchet-pride—rollin’ out in brand-new slate.

Family of God

Newsboys

Recent comments

decsendantsfan

Related tracks