Who am I supposed to be
Someone who is full of fruit
Full of love, compassionate
Always in a mood to suit
Have I laboured twenty years
Giving all to be refined
Surely something deep has changed
If not in body, then in mind.
I am still controlled by me
Things have worsened, I admit
I have nowhere else to go
Thrashing in a lowly pit
This is where He wants me at
He's the only hope I have
Take this selfish, wasted child
Change my sorry epitaph.
