And in our beds, 
'Twixt the rustling sheets,
We shut the eyes of God
And make love to our demons.
They keep us warm 
Until the sun chases away our delight
Leaving only shame in its wake.

Lord,
Give me a moment without fear,
and I can tell you a thousand stories.

Give me a man without faith
And I'll paint a thousand pictures, 
Of chances lost and never gained-

Pebbles lodged in the clay
I've cut from the hand of the potter,
And his blood cannot wash it away.