Prodigal Son

I don't get me all the time, sometimes I even hate myself.
I'm crying for change, and I know I must be acting so strange.
But where has my motivation gone?
Where is this deviation coming from?

In a big world, I'm feeling really small.
And this world isn't mine, it's not even on my side.
I feel like I'm just along for the ride.

It's like this:
In the world, but not of it- a elitist of another clique.
A wall of cement, not brick.
I don't fit in, I can't fit in, but really,
I don't want to fit in.

It goes like this:
Everyday I stumble, every catch I'll fumble.
Pick me last, or don't pick me at all,
I don't want to play for the fall- but they pick me first,
Because I'm good at this, one of the best, ahead of the rest.
But my heart- it's beats so loud in my chest.

Along this road, every corner I turn, every street that
passes me by, carries me farther and farther
From where I am supposed to be... Home.
Home- so unfamiliar, but everyone's struggles are so very
similar, but we all like to think we're all so peculiar.
The strange case, the special ones,
the ones that can't be fixed, can't get mixed
stuck on their tricks.

Vices. Poisons. Addiction, every cry the same,
every voice shares the same ring, we are the ones
who slip through the cracks, we are the ones
who want to change, but are constantly swept away...
By our own choices, what a bitter battle this can be.
Wanting to be free, but putting our chains on daily.

I need to be filled, but with something I don't seek anymore.
Getting back to the Word, leaning on the Scriptures.
It goes like this: renewal of my mind, not conforming
to the world, and then we'll know
The will of God is perfect and pleasing.
It should be my one reason, to breathe, to live, to fight
and to stand upright.
Called to be a living sacrifice, to kill my own flesh

But to be in this world, and yet not synchronized,
Is a task beyond my grasp, and so I have to ask
for help, cry for help, through hallways I wander, searching
for my helper, my only, my lover.
And so it goes on like this: on and on, just like this.
I don't mind to plead, I'm down on my knees,
everyday becomes a chore, and I can hardly stand it anymore.
Stripped bare, I wanna be washed with fire,
I'm walking a very thin wire... and I'm tired.

The resolution is wrong, the brightness incorrectly adjusted,
I'm saturated- in colors that aren't mine, staining my skin,
making me a new creation.
But something... how did that go again?
Something about matter, neither created nor destroyed.
And there comes that flicker, a small flicker of hope?
Somewhere something deep inside and it goes
thump, thump, thump... a heartbeat- still beating,
a heart still singing, an organ alive.

So one last time, it goes a little something like this:
On every day, in every little way,
I'm given reminders, God blessed moments
that bring such tears to my eye, squeezing my heart so tight.
It still exists, its not made of ice or numb,
I am not too far gone,
I can come home.

Prodigal Son.