(about 1990)
Walking a vast wilderness
on your journey day to day,
not knowing really where to go,
or what should come your way.
The north star has been clouded
by the storms that rage and sway,
And it all begins a picture;
you look, then turn away,
You know deep down they're wrong
what they're painting isn't you,
they cover what you really are
kept promises are few.
They try to block you from the light
And the mirror, or you'll get things right.
But the mirror's inside, a prayer away
so you kneel to wash the world away.
Reflected now, a brand new soul
The hand of Christ molded the pain
As clay is in the Master's hand
You're on that straight, bright path again.
