Picked Up The Book
For The First Time In Ages
Still Washed Me Clean
With The Dust On The Pages
My Life Is A Story
I Struggle To Write
(But) Is It One Worth Telling
Is It One You Like
(So) Who Am I, Who Am I
Am I Just A Poor Preacher’s Prodigal Son
A Troubled Child, Running Wild
Chasing The Glory Instead Of The One
Who Says That I, Even I
Have Something (Still Left) To Offer
(So) Who Am I, Who Am I
To Question The Pen
In The Hands Of The Author
Like Every Good Story
You Learn From The Loss
And I Lost The Plot
Every Time I’ve Played God
I Live In A Moment
You Already Wrote
And It Proves That I’m Someone
Yea Someone You Love
(So) Who Am I, Who Am I
Am I Just A Poor Preacher’s Prodigal Son
A Troubled Child, Running Wild
Chasing The Glory Instead Of The One
Who Says That I, Even I
Have Something (Still Left) To Offer
(So) Who Am I, Who Am I
To Question The Pen
In The Hands Of The Author
I See Trauma
I See Worthless
You See Something
You Can Work With
I See Weakness
I See Failure
You See Something
Good On Paper
I’ve Seen Ashes To Beauty
I’ve Felt Heaven Working Through Me
I’ve Seen Panic Turn To Power
Felt Your Peace
In My Darkest Hour
What Grace Is This?
Called Me By Name
Again And Again And Again
What Grace Is This?
Crossed Out My Shame
Forgives Me Again And Again And Again
(So) Who Am I, Who Am I
Am I Just A Poor Preacher’s Prodigal Son
A Troubled Child, Running Wild
Chasing The Glory Instead Of The One
Who Says That I, Even I
Have Something (Still Left) To Offer
(So) Who Am I, Who Am I
To Question The Pen
In The Hands Of The Author
I’m Ink In The Pen
In The Hands Of The Author
I’m Ink In The Pen
In The Hands Of The Author
