fault lines...

Oh father, here I am, a great big grump.

To three or four around me I react.

I seem to be short tempered, when I'm bumped.

I'm finding fault with ev'ryone, in fact.

I'm like an alcoholic, putting down;

instead of building up. That's all I do.

And I know that I'm same as any clown.

That means that I am stuffed, if not for you.

So here is all my insecurity.

A present for you: my hypocrisy.

Unless you can infect with purity,

I haven't got a chance, I clearly see!

There's no one else whom I could give this to,

this shite, that should be buried, left to rot,

and eaten by the worms of hell that you

spoke of, Lord Jesus. I love you a lot!

You know my needs. The deathly certainties!

My prognosis, was not looking so good.

It's like a cancer that cannot be sneezed

away, or just ignored. And neither should

that happen. But I here run up to you.

I think I need you now to clean me up.

Like little grand-child who has done a poo,

I'm stuffed if you are scared what might erupt.

And more than cleanliness, I want your life

to grow in me, to come out ev'ry way,

To follow up your leader more the stife

in what I hope and do, & think and say.

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