Lord,
Forgive me for all the wicked admittedly done, a T.H.U.G life because death comes for the good when they’re young.
Still fight for what’s right till my hands become numb.
So much dirt I’d leave a permanent line in the tub,
and I’ve tried but can’t scrub the grime and the blood.
Like dried paint all but caked on my heart and palms.
So I pray you understand, and forgive me for my wrongs,
Knowing or unknowingly everything that I’ve done.
Guilt is a hand—and hand for holding tight to love.
A lesson in the mistakes forever—or never was.
Lacking the needed strength to pick myself back up
Hope is fleeting, grace and faith till as of late was none
Am I wicked man with only good intent,
or am I a righteous man whose wickedness won’t relent?
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