Making Me by Downhere
Well the poet is stuck in the mud
And the dreamer is finding his way home from the stars
And the visionary's watching his feet
'Cause the sentimental fool is numb again
Simple hand, simple eye, nothing to write home about
Yet the artist chisels at the stone
Curious, the child tugs the fingers of the bigger
He wants to see the face that is his own
He's not alone
Lord Help me be the one You're making me, yeah
Lord help me see the one You're making me
The one You're making me, the one You're making me
Well we push it off and pull Him in
We fist His lips and we kick His shin
We post a sign, turn and throttle away
And barely listen to a single word He has to say.
By his eye a tendril fell
He cast a word, but not a spell
It's all tied up' it's all done
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