Dry Eyes

I get no respect behind my back
I think it's due time to grow up (Confess the courage that I lack)
In my choices (My weak will)
My tendency to tear through nothing

I made my bed and I will die in it
I made my bed and I will die in it

We all grow old if given the chance
Pray with tired voices and folded hands
We all grow old if given the chance
Pray with tired voices and folded hands

(Father)

Perceptions add up and maul on top of (Each other)
Like blankets upon weaving (others have stitched together)
I am biased and bullied by barely anything
Yet I let it, let it get the best of me

My hands were once lifted high
Now they lay low like my spirit
They dangle at my side
My hands were once lifted high
And I will lift them again