:
Blind man came to me, gave me little figurines,
mud pies, telling me they’re jewels, but I see the beach
a holiday at sea, yet I feel the pull of flesh
telling me that mud pies, filthy rags are really best
my tongue tastes sweetness but then the bitter
it bites back, weakness make my blood thinner
the narrow path is hidden in this valley of bones
dried up, but i see the breath of God give me hope
the same breath in the Word, also in me
filling me with truth, that the world cannot see
if it’s true then every love-sick soul around
suffocating every single minute in their own sound
their own song, their own screams, their own lies
every part of life muted by the devil screaming “DIE!”
so as You spit in mud to give the blind man sight
give me love to love the love-lost in this fight
Hook:
He’s reaching down through the stars
to the broken and the proud (Can you see it?)
He’s got a song for your heart
Singing through the ones who live out loud (Can you hear it!?!?!?!?!)
CL:
What do we value, what’s guiding the culture
If everyone’s worshiping something, what’s the object we float to
Destination steering ships, navigating through storms cuz
Attainable rewards seem worth giving our lives for
But many wash ashore to empty, barren endeavors
Saddest moment s’when obtained desires doesn’t deliver
Crazy how we determine the value for material items
And end up chasin’em to find we define ourselves by’em
Ironic self-defeating worth got us stuck in these cycles
Placing hope in idols we created, hopeless disciple
Blindly follows wishful thinking as the road becomes wider
Left alone on his journey to acquire desires
Tragic story however, this the truth of the culture
If the ones who see don’t guide the blind, they’re food for the vultures
We weren’t saved to sit and decorate the walls of the church
But to bring The Message that revives the dead to new birth
[Hook]
J. Han:
I see an army of troops marching down the boulevard
strutting to the rhythm of the same drum going hard
with the boom chicka, boom bap in just a flicker
any one of them will jump at you with trigger-happy-fingers
pointed at you, ready to strike
if you bad mouth their master, you got yourself a fight for the night.
But you can’t see them well, they cannot even see themselves.
Lost in an image that they found when they were twelve.
Silly ain’t it? But at least they’re feeling something though
Yearning for attention, recognition, something visible
physical assurance bro, they need someone to tell ‘em
it will be okay, not just tokens of their venom
handed to them building bridges with the felons of the town,
People looking at me funny who’re those fellas you’re around?
Maybe I am out of place but I was in their shoes.
Hope to point ‘em to The Grace that saved this wretched fool.
credits
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