Sometimes I cannot forgive,
And these days mercy cuts so deep.
If the world was how it should be,
Maybe I could get some sleep.
While I lay, I dream we're better,
Scales were gone and faces lighter.
When we wake, we hate our brother,
We still move to hurt each other.
Sometimes I can close my eyes,
And all the fear that keeps me silent,
Falls below my heavy breathing.
What makes me so badly bent?
We all have a chance to murder,
We all feel the need for wonder.
We still want to be reminded,
That the pain is worth the thunder.
Sometimes when I lose my grip,
I wonder what to make of Heaven.
All the times I thought to reach up,
All the times I had to give.
All the wounds that money causes.
All the comforts of cathedrals.
All the cries of thirsty children.
This is our inheritance.
- Jars Of Clay
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