In my madness, I'd planted seeds of disease
This was a harvest of anger and malignancy
Some who bullied me, do not own me
And as the seeds planted come to bloom
Each of them will fall
I lingered in my anger, such an empty state
I am my own jailer, owner of my hate
When Jesus came to me in dreams
I mocked him, he made offers, I scoffed
He offered hope with but one condition
But I was the source of pain, of my anger
Far from worthy, but offered redemption?
The life I lived offered stagnation and pain
Instead I held hard upon my hate, waited
A harvest came, I was still insane
A cleansing fire fell from above
Then dead with my flesh gone
