Sons Is This A Dry Season Or Agnosticism?
I see the crowd but there's nobody out there
Nobody that I can recognize
I find my hands washed by the blood of a savior
Bearing the weight he looks me square in the eyes
I can see the heart, I'm breaking now
What good is this? What good is all of your worship
Though you've raised your hands up high?
You've knelt before the throne an arrogant people
Only to learn that you're praising your lies
I can see his heart, you can't yourself
I'll make you drown, I'll make you scream
I'll do whatever, whatever, whatever I can
I'll make you drown, I'll make you scream
I'll do whatever, whatever, whatever I can say
Is this just a dry season, or does agnosticism plague us all?
We worship God on Sundays, using the weekdays for the fall
The church's budget overflows while poverty persists
How can the heart of Jesus and the prideful coexist?
The creases of my bible aren't as worn as they once were
The pages of my journal haven't held a written word
My spirit scans the shallows, though intended for the deep
How can I find myself in heaven if hell is where I'll sleep?
I gave myself up
I gave myself up
I gave myself up
I gave myself up