My father is dead
the church bells have spoken
My body is weak
and my spirit falls broken

Life crashes
burned to ashes
like his body now gone,
With his memorial now behind me
I must somehow move on

How does one drink from a vessel that has become parched and empty?
How does one journey with no soles on their feet?

With pain,
With trial,
Lived one day at a time;
new calluses now hardening
damn, must everything rhyme?

Life is not clean. It's dirty.
Life's not smooth it is rough.
Life holds no prisoner.

I will make it, I will make it, I will make it. You will see;
cause God lives in me and through Him I will be,
made whole.


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