Lovesick is the latch that is to attach
To the pain I feel, bus ride in the heat,
Humility over humidity, windy city with a
Never ending skyline, Gospel lover send it
Over, will I die as this Beloved Messenger?
Sex sells all over this God forsaken computer in
Front of me—pleasure is man’s measure to obtain
But wrath stays stored up, I now stay poored up in
The pouring rain, wasting my life in empty rooms
Praying to unseen forces, crying over the tragedy
I call sin’s sickness—this is the condemnation—
I love what I condemn, I love the darkness too,
It is not just them over there—I have wasted away
Too much money on sugar and that Eagle Eyed Cherry
Night, fighting the dawn with you, up late with the English
Patient but I knew it was the desert I had to walk in—like
Salt in the mouth it never seems to end, what now is
Religion anyway? Cause I am a pleasure renegade,
Cause I had those nights too will it seemed good to
Try to slip away, to try to hide away from the conscious
Fainted in the sin but the desire stays the same—love
Will have to proclaim me, but what does God feel?
Test today, failed it last year, one last time to get it
Right but still His face follows the trace of my outline
And an outline I feel, powerless after midnight to get
Anything right, I too am a failure and a fracture of a man
Free fallin plays on repeat for I love those old songs before
Pop music destroyed everything!
Superficial talks are no longer good enough,
Condoms are a bust even when they do not
Bust..yes, kids, as long as its safe? Really,
Hmmmmmmm..I can’t just sit around like
I am stupid because I am not but dumb is
Not in the bible but foolish is—this body bends
All kinds of ways but it will bow before Holy and
True, it will die with desire covered all around,
An imputed sound of a new sheriff in town—
King Jesus here to stay—I am not ready and I will
Not talk to kids like they don’t know what is going on—
Sure I shutter to say the word sex and naked and intercourse
And porn and scorn and shame and human trafficked little girls
And prostitutes that come to my church and tweakers in the
Skyline I call comfortable sunset time—meth addicts with no
Teeth to handle some real pleasure, some real love, some
Real mercy! We are all broken but how poor, how desperate
Are we for God, how much are we willing to give—I don’t
Know but I am pretty sure it is no less then everything
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