The Old Me
I'm not who they think I am, yeah I'm a misfit I struggle
to fit in but in his perfect will, so even with free admission
I still fall short the ball is in my court but I'm just a vistor
I grieve the spirit like the next man yeah I'm a killa, so
even with so much dirt on me he still calls me clean so on
the solid rock I have no choice but to lean...I'm a fiend for
the word but still I fight the urges of my flesh ya know,
the best of us fell its almost like we're prone to rebel but
pride is that wall we all need to repel off, make me as low
as a servant I just wanna serve ya, transform me till I'm
conforming to your perfect will train me show me how to
shoot to kill, kill...me but resurrect yourself within me set
free from this flesh is what I wanna be but the struggle is
necessary yeah him, myself, I, bury the old me
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