Me and my old man,
we rise before the sun is in the skies.
I always be his biggest fan.
While others sleep,
we make a plan.
He leads me through the dark and cold.
The road is rough,
the nights are old.
No turning back,
no end in sight.
Just step by step into the night.
A sound breaks out beyond the gate.
They strike again.
They say of laid,
no paid to earn,
just hands that way.
We turn and leave accept our fate.
No roof above,
no wall or bed.
But still a tree stands overhead.
It shields us both from heat and rain.
And softens grief and numbs the pain.
They say the rain is a gift of grace,
but still drown and leave no trace.
It doesn't wash the hurt away.
The sorrow like the storm will stay.
When snow falls like broken bread,
it hides the wounds we never said.
You reap what song they like to say.
But we still kneel.
We still must pray.
The day of the night are long.
No light,
no joy,
no hope for song.
We sold no love,
just fear and flame.
And watch the world forget our name.
We ride with guns,
not bands of peace.
In lands where all the light will seize.
We say we rule but can't defend.
We lose more ground with every end.
The sun breaks out beyond the gate.
They strike again.
They say I'm late.
No pray to earn just hands away.
Eternally leave no f.
But still a tree stands overhead.
Jesus p from he.
The days are bad.
The nights are long.
No light.
No joy.
No hope.
The song we s the world forget our name constant of peace as we're all seed.
The real heat.

Me and my old man hoping now and then.
But hopes to dream the lost ones keep.
Fear is all we saw and reap.