There's a time for every season,
Sorrowing when death gives its' call,
A reality of living that eventually come to all.
But unless one dies to themselves,
It's a life never lived; a life with selfishness,
A heart that never learned to give.
The things we held on to,
We thought we couldn't live without,
Were the very lies Satan fed us
To keep us trapped in death's cloud. |
