My Pretty Words Poem by Wakefield Mahon

Picture
God, you know, it's hard to grow
In a world that's full of sin
Feeling blind, I try to find
A place where I fit in

A wife to care and a dream to share
A healthy newborn son
I know my life for all it's strife
Has only just begun

All that is words
Only pretty words

I like to be like the Pharisees
Shouting, 'How good am I! '
I will dropp by and leave a tithe
Then wave the church good-bye
God is good. Bless this food
Bless this Christian home
The workday lingers, my humble fingers
Are worked down to the bone.

All that is just words
Very nice, pretty words

Well, I can pray on my knees
To God every night
And I can go to church on Sunday
To make up for Saturday night

And I can bring you all my riches
I can give you all my fame
But it doesn't mean much, Lord
If I don't do it in your name

When you break it down to the nails and wood
It's clear I need to see
The reason that I'm praising you
Is because you died for me

For me you died,
Were crucified.
The wounds that bled,
The tears you shed,
Were for me.
You died for me!