I feel the touch,
The brand, the mark,
The scar, the tar I walked
On, the feathering that was
Done, burnt for it, burned for
It, burned man will find His
Time for the crime—for eyes
Will judge, eyes will pierce,
Mercy fierce will consume
And consummate the fullness
Of my imperfections, David
Did fight, did bleed, did not
Succeed at raising his kids,
At raising them right, temples
They built, 4,000 strong to
Sing all night long—Samuel,
Find me, find me here waiting
For your words not to fall to
The ground—but your kids,
They were wicked, unwise,
And not gifted at following
Orders, out of order now
Are the men of God who
Did great things but forgot
To raise the ones under them—
Give me their strength but let
Me learn from them—kids one
Day to bear this image of mine,
Share in the valentine of me,
And the love of family—can
I raise up the little ones,
The little sister, speak for
Her, for she has been spoken
For—kids, family, and doing
That right—that is better than
The gift of prophecy