Why the Devil (Can't I Be More Like Jesus?)

I've got a heart like a coal miner's lung and a mind like a sailor
You could never repair all my rips and my tears
even if you were a seamstress or tailor
My life's been an hourglass filled up with mud
turn it over but nothing much changes
I've got hands like a butcher and scars like a slave
And a future that my past arranges

So I keep standing here fighting for a piece of this nothing
It'll take all I have if I ever want to barely be something
But I'm weighted by the wreckage and the tattered, old, miserable pieces
Wondering why the devil I can't seem to be more like Jesus?

I've got truth like a lawyer and trust like a thief
and the strength of some rotten, old table
If I'm an anchor, I'm unbound
on the ocean floor I'm drowned again in some lyrical fable
Dressed in tattoos and old bruises
neckties are hang nooses strung from some corporate gable
I guess packaging lies wrapped in rhythm and rhyme
is the only thing keeping me stable

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