Soul Cries

I'm just a man myself

Mortal is the wound that I infect myself

Excuses in my head to protect myself

It's easier to cope than correct myself

Preach it preacher, I mean that's what they say

The tongue is easier to say, but living is the proof of pay

Growing weary of this everyday but drowning's not an option

Even when the voices in my head steady mocking

On the doors of heaven, steady knocking

Wishing for the day, that I'm living often

I'm running out of gas, but I'm running out of options

Running out of gas, and I'm running out of