clenched fist against my chest
desperate words of hope confess
i am empty for the sight you

some say that it's a gift
to see what i see and to know
but i see the truth it is

a gift like this is only for my father's table
a gift like this means nothing
if not for you, my father's hand guides me
where to go, i only know his direction

how is it here in my broken shame
i still know your voice and i lean in
compulsively drawn to the truth i know
i will walk this way where my brother goes
and i take the cup as it is to me
the sorrow of knowing you keep me in this life
for where i want to be you know
in my father's home, is the life i long to know

for to make what i can from these hands
threading my words for another man's praise
oh i need not your praise for the work of my hands
is only for my father's display and all other causes
a plain facsimile, mean nothing to me

i put my life in your hands
make your Glory in me, be seen.
Oh i've learned what pleases you more than most
and my gift is the gift of sight
i recognise your art in life.