I think it is all beyond me now
That truth be told in death somehow
The facts that I could not avow
In the living of the simple life.
The flesh would have its power.
The world would have me cower.
The devil would all things sour,
The product too mired in strife.
What wonder is there when the darkness is bared
To the present we dare look upon?
Without seeing the Light through the Cross hairs,
Those bloodied by the suffering of the Christ
That magnify more what is helpless and poor
Than what is rosy and pleasant and nice.
Oh my, what a long weary journey
To acknowledge what everyone denies
That God is the dispenser of all that is good
And everything else lives and dies.