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Oh in the morning, |
|
I stumble, my way towards, the mirror |
|
and my makeup, its light out, and I now, |
|
face just what I'm made of. |
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There's so much more left to do, |
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but I'm not young, |
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but I'm not through. |
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Oh in the evening, |
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I stumble, my way towards, another |
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daily struggle, its dark out, its time now, |
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that I pick up my hustle. |
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Make a call, make some cash, |
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make your mark, make it last. |
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Tiny scores, tiny rooms. |
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Lofty goals met too soon, |
|
too soon. |
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And here I stand a broken man, |
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if I could I would raise my hands. |
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I come before you humbly, |
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if I could I'd be on my knees. |
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Come and lay down your head upon my chest, |
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feel my heart beat, feel my unrest. |
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If Jesus could only wash my feet, |
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then I'd get up strong, and muscle on. |
|
Oh in the morning, |
|
I stumble my way towards the mirror |
|
and my makeup, its light out, and I now, |
|
face just what I'm made of. |
|
There's so much more left to do, |
|
well I'm not young, but I'm not through. |
|
Tiny scores, tiny rooms, |
|
lofty goals met too soon, |
|
too soon |
