Skeleton inside my closet. God resurrected dry bones.
I was hoping that I lost it. My sins I couldn't hide those.
I fear they'll leak like a faucet, turn away, my eyes closed.
Addiction, thought I paused it, just another lie told.
The lies that pride sold, the risk of trust breaking
The weight of hidden sins means its too tough faking
Like to claim that screwing with a date counts as love-making
A shame that this strays away from the page saying that love's patient
Fear that phrases and statements blast, parading your mistaking.
Erect, an idol of secret, but why hide behind lies if you never believed it
was evil, was it fear of people or fear to hear what was clear. That this is sin.
Just another lie when you said that it isn't.
Maybe its not for torture that I see the bone's life raised,
but to have me turn to the cross, lose the fee that Christ's life payed.
There's nothing that's hidden that won't be disclosed on the right day.
But this is what I pray: that you and I don't resort to living "my way".
And we open up the closet to the Son's bright rays
Maybe then the dry bones will grow skin.
No longer suffer death that came along with those sins.