Let me tell you a story,
Paint you a picture,
Divulge something unto you,
That not even I know the answer to.
If I were to die,
Before I wake,
And pray the Lord,
My soul to take,
And he takes it,
And with it,
He mends me,
Makes me complete,
Patches the hurt, distrust, lies, deceit,
And every little thing that maimed me,
Bruised me,
Tortured my soul,
Then will I be whole?
Will I no longer feel as if I'm slipping through the cracks?
Through some void in my life,
Through the very thing that tells me it's there to comfort me,
Make me feel like someone I'm not.
Something I'm not.
Does all of this hinge on the fact that,
The night before I breathed my last breath,
The night before I hopefully passed silently from this world to the next,
I prayed that if I should die before I wake,
For the Lord,
My soul to take?