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I just sit and think only of myself,
because of my sick heart.
Through my acknowledgment I've started the healing process.
It is preposterous to think of this ill-heartedness.
Sick hearts have no room to hide,
this sickness fills up on the inside.
Yet on the outside there is no sign of my hearts disease.
Though at the core of it's a cold and bitter heart.
This doesn't leave the body have a chance to consider a healthy way of recovering.
I'm lost on this path I my heart has blazed.
Spewing out nonsense
from this vileness stored up in me.
Slipping and backsliding
all over this filth my heart has compiled.
I unravel!
Alike gravel under my feet; my heart is to me,
People have trampled on it, and I just can't seem to heal,
and it's becoming to hard to deal with.
Being heart sick is like any other illness.
It strikes at the core of you, though
what are we if not for the heart.
I make my way knowing I'm all used up.
This sickness covers over all my goodness.
I thank God though that he saved my soul,
because of that this sick heart can't take total control.
