well this is different

me and my chaff men

i don't know why You don't strike me down.

i've made my bed with the devil's hounds.

i've cast my lot and defaced your fame

but still you beckon, calling my name. 

when the counsel of wicked harkened my way

i said "make haste, waste not the day

for there is debauchery and evil to be done."

under the watchful eye of the begotten Son.

we tore through cities, burnt country sides,

reflections of ourselves in our vilest eyes.

the trail we left was all broken and dead

but onward my scoffers and chaff-men i led.

until we reached the banks of a river all grey

and my followers said "we're swimming today."

but i replied, "we've gone far enough."

they disagreed and the currents swallowed them up. 

now all that's left is me and Your voice

directing its way through the waves crashing noise. 

my crimes against You beat loud as a drum

but still You reach out and say to me, "come."