It’s not the request of a man who knows he’s whole
It’s not coming from the infinite understanding of a self-enlightened soul.
These coals of pain sear their way into the core of my heart.
It’s where I start to be real,
Where I can’t bear to face the broken loss I feel.
I long for you to peel back this calloused blister covering
And heal what nothing else can touch

Wash over me.
Pour through me.
Surround me with the flesh You wore,
The stripes You bore.
I’m thirsty for your rich, red blood.

I’ve never been surrounded by a fortress of my own self worth.
I’ve learned that honest vulnerability can sometimes bring a curse
Of hurt and fear so powerful I collapse under its obligatory load.
It’s where the road I travel seems so long,
Where the silence of an empty house has replaced the joyous throng.
I want to erupt in song as tears sting their way down my cheeks,
And strong, pierced hands hold what nothing else can reach.
(…I’m singing…)

Wash over me.
Pour through me.
Surround me with the flesh You wore,
The stripes You bore.
I’m thirsty for your rich, red blood.

Over and over again,
It’s groaning, revealing Your life within
When my tears and my joy become one
A transformation’s already begun.

Wash over me.
Pour through me.
Surround me with the flesh You wore,
The stripes You bore.
I’m thirsty for your rich, red blood.