Cry of the afflicted

My renewing

Cry of the afflicted

His eye has caught me now I can't escape his gaze
The Artist holds me up under the light, appraising me
In shame, I cast my eyes down to the ground
He'll take hold of me, and flesh it out, with purpose, with a vengeance, blade in hand

Carve me up, strip away, tear mine down, my shape is yet to come
When will I rouse, from the perfect rest he gives?
How will the world see me then, as his own, his masterpiece
His eye has caught me now I can't escape his gaze
The Artist holds me up under the light, appraising me

In shame, I cast my eyes down to the ground
My twisted shape and burdened thoughts will be severed
Sorrow will fade with my nature restored, my nature renewed
When will I rouse, from the perfect rest he give?

How will the world see me then, as his own, his masterpiece
The shape He wants, that I can't see Is the essence he grants
I've carried the waste, shapeless and vague, for so long it clings to me
Pieces will fall, be swept away The Artist will restore me
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