Scrupulously etching away at this frail existence,
The “master craftsmen” carving his own Image of idolatry
Years spent creating
This effigy, this monument
This image, vocation, reputation
It is as fragile as glass (4x)
With every stroke of your hammer
This sculpture of self deteriorates
The cannibals rejoice, as you choke.
For what? For what Is Your life it is even a vapor,
it is here for a moment and disappears
Scrupulously etching away at this frail existence,
The “master craftsmen” carving his own Image of idolatry
Worshipping nothing more,
than a concept of “me.”
Take the broken shards of my life
With breath of flames,
breathe life into me again
New creation