Yada Yada..No weapon formed

My God

Poor God

When did you become the blame

For every transgression

For every ounce of pain

My God

Poor God

We form weapons of our own

Shoot at ourselves

And then sing sad songs

My god

Poor God

We forgot how to praise

How to thank you for life

And even thank you for pain

My God

Poor God

It is a blessing just to breath

But we cry out and yell

sleeping on satin sheets

My God

Poor God

With bumper stickers and such

We put your name on our sleeve

But have not learned how to love

My God

Poor God

Your people should be continuously

in joy

But many of us use your name like a toy

My God

Poor God

We must look to the hills for our help

and when we scream out no weapon formed

Know you formed most weapons yourself

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