Black fingered twilight touches my home.
Truth pierces my heart like the spear of pain that injured our redeemer on the Cross.
The cobwebs of my deceit holding it together have come apart.
There is no safety to catch my fall.
Give me just one day of faith for every unfaithful year.
Give me one extra minute for every hour I’ve wasted.
Give me one second of silence to stop the pain.
Where do wanderers go to cry?
Where do the landless go to mourn?
Where can I go to flee from myself?
A man beaten down has but a few choices.
We rise up from the pitiful places we’ve landed.
Or stay down in the traveling burial plots we made for ourselves.
Our resolutions flee when we choose inaction.
Turn your face back into the pain of what you’ve done.
Turn your face back into the past of the mess you left behind.
And clean up the stinking mess.
You know what must be corrected.
Man up! Man up! Man up!
And return to join the rank upon rank upon rank of men…
The infantry of which you belong.