Picked up the Book for the first time in agesStill washed me clean with the dust on the pagesMy life is a story I struggle to writeBut is it one worth telling?Is it one You like?So who am I? Who am I?I just a poor preacher's prodigal son?Troubled child, running wildChasing the glory instead of the OneWho says that I, even I, have something still left to offer?So who am I?Who am I to question the pen in the hands of the Author?Like every good story, you learn from the lossAnd I lost the plot every timeI played GodI live in a moment You already wroteIt's proof that I'm someone, yeah, someone You loveSo who am I? Who am I?I just a poor preacher's prodigal son?A troubled child, running wildChasing the glory instead of the OneWho says that I, oh, even Ihave something still left to offer?So who am I?Who am I to question the penin the hands of the Author?I see trauma, I see worthlessYou see something You can work withI see weakness, I see failureYou see something good on paperAnd I've seen ashes turn to beautyI've felt Heaven working through meI've seen panic turn to powerfelt Your peace in my darkest hourWhat grace is this? Called me by nameagain and again and again and againAnd what grace is this? Crossed out my shameforgives me again and again and again and again and againSo who am I? God, who am I?I just a poor preacher's prodigal son?Troubled child, still running wildChasing the glory instead of the OneWho says that I, even I, have something still left to offer?Oh, who am I?Who am I to question the pen in the hands of the Author?I'm ink in the pen in the hands of the Author, mmI'm ink in the pen in the hands of the AuthorI'm ink in the pen in the hands of the Author
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LETROU FEATURE
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Picked up the Book for the first time in ages
Still washed me clean with the dust on the pages
My life is a story I struggle to write
But is it one worth telling?
Is it one You like?
So who am I? Who am I?
I just a poor preacher's prodigal son?
Troubled child, running wild
Chasing the glory instead of the One
Who says that I, even I, have something still left to offer?
So who am I?
Who am I to question the pen in the hands of the Author?
Like every good story, you learn from the loss
And I lost the plot every time
I played God
I live in a moment You already wrote
It's proof that I'm someone, yeah, someone You love
So who am I? Who am I?
I just a poor preacher's prodigal son?
A troubled child, running wild
Chasing the glory instead of the One
Who says that I, oh, even I
have something still left to offer?
So who am I?
Who am I to question the pen
in the hands of the Author?
I see trauma, I see worthless
You see something You can work with
I see weakness, I see failure
You see something good on paper
And I've seen ashes turn to beauty
I've felt Heaven working through me
I've seen panic turn to power
felt Your peace in my darkest hour
What grace is this? Called me by name
again and again and again and again
And what grace is this? Crossed out my shame
forgives me again and again and again and again and again
So who am I? God, who am I?
I just a poor preacher's prodigal son?
Troubled child, still running wild
Chasing the glory instead of the One
Who says that I, even I, have something still left to offer?
Oh, who am I?
Who am I to question the pen in the hands of the Author?
I'm ink in the pen in the hands of the Author, mm
I'm ink in the pen in the hands of the Author
I'm ink in the pen in the hands of the Author
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