From conception
He knows us
Yet we flee from Him
From the moment
Our tiny feet
Hit the floor
We are running
Towards trouble
Towards trouble
We want more
We want more
Little feet grow large
Fit into the shoes
Of those before us
Those who left us
Under curse
And
Running towards trouble
Lines blur
Lust swirls
Eager we are
For our eyes
To be opened
And the power
Of the cross
Becomes background noise
Becomes fleeting
And forgranted
No sooner did
We lose a savior
Than we are
Giving Him back away
Hurried in our attempt
To be left alone
At least there is grace
At least there is grace
