His Blood can wash us clean

Shallow capacity is bearing all I see, and I know It's disease, it's loss, it's death knocking at my door
I click these thoughts to something else, something more.
I'm so blue, you're so blue.

Detached harmonies, all the airways scream dissonance And we know of broken life, broken homes,
Broken hearts and broken bones, Recycling the paper of a crying world's suicide note and
We're so blue, so blue.

See the world spinning round A sucking hole that souls go down
Embrace the sorrow of today because repentance finds a way
Only His blood can heal our wounds Only His blood can heal our wounds
And if repentance finds a way, what's left today to be.….blue?

A final symphony, The precipice too close, you're scaring me -- back away
Sin is real, it doesn't feel, It always, only always, steals.
Run to the cross the only joy that's real.
-Downhere, So Blue

Prophesies

Prophesies are odd things. You want to believe them, becuase they are the words from God thru someone else, but when you think you know how it's to come, it's painful, and how do you tell others? Will they believe you, or will they understand? Only God does. That at least is very reassuring.

Home on the range

Home on the range. Like a stove. Scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, a big old mess. Moving, settling, adjusting and changes. It's always a little different each time. Funny, I never thought I'd be moving and settling this much, but it's really, a growing chance. Except I have a sneaking suspicion that I wont really know the growth until later.