A certain weakness has to take its place, 
Where one might reach the end of rusted mind.

Since crumbled habits never could embrace
A Power so high - no other way to find.
To reach the end of self - this irony.
We find a truer Heart abides within.
We let our chaff just fall into the sea,
Where Mercy’s waves have drowned all of our sins.

A final gasp, in human terms, denied.
But rising strong, an energy anew,
To overwhelm the weeds of Satan’s lies
And bring the fruits of everything that’s true.    

    Feel comfort in our painful, faltered state.
   It’s fertile ground where God will now create!