Better

(albüm: The Art Of Joy - 2014)

Count sheep
Now enter a dream
Of a scepter held by an expert Shepherd
And He do the same thing
But for these sheep it seems like it's 1-2-3
Keep falling on me
Now honestly think
Would you ever depend on attention-deficit sheep
That continue to think and compete with the Shepherd and His network
"Let him eat give him new fleece"
They want a sweatshirt
Or when they eat so they struggle to read
And every other week it's an excerpt from an internet verse
On a meme or a t-shirt or a mass text
Fast-food eating little sheep
Try and lecture
But they walk weak with a limp like a Fred Durst
Who gonna confess first?
No no doubt or don't speak
There's a lamb in silence with a Hannibal (bull)
And he should give it all to the lector
And ask the Shepherd so dare I try
I'm Jeremiah the bulimic sheep who don't eat
I just say I'm tired and go to sleep paralyzed
Like what if my legs are a pair of lies
I count real well and I stand disguised
Cat with a little bit of fear is a whole lot of pride can you feel me
Started from the bottom like Wheelchair Jimmy
Now I'm trying to get verified
Who cares? God, where was I?
Confessions to the God of Jacob changed my makeup
And give me grace when I wake up

In the morning comes the simplest of pleasure
Eyes wide open to the sight of treasures
But you gotta see something better
Better
Than stuff around you
You gotta see something better
Better better
Little pretty treasures trying to drown you out

I wake up and I think
Does an artist seek
The canvas or the paint
He makes the brush blush plus
He loves what he can't obtain
I guess he's drawing a blank
It's nothing
An idiom made him something
David Blaine can't change
I tricked you
You reading the surface of this puzzle
The struggle is beneath. It's deep. I'm shallow
It's like I want what I see
But I can't get past my shadow
My need competes with me
I wanna battle
The snake's awake now
My trophy's rattle
I'm done with riddles
The truth is simple
I wake up and Folgers fold me into something fickle
In other words, what's brewing is my ruin
It's simple
The music of my morning has no Word
Hear the instrumental
Of the lies of self-sufficiency
I'm living like I've been complete
Tweeting before I speak to King
Or Mordecai with better dreams
It's better things than sight
'Cause I was made for this
If mirrors make me happier than Christ
Then I'm an atheist. It's fact or fiction

In the morning comes the simplest of pleasure
Eyes wide open to the sight of treasures
But you gotta see something better
Better
Than stuff around you
You gotta see something better
Better better
Little pretty treasures trying to drown you out

Don't ever leave my side
You're all I wanted, need inside
It's your love
It's you
It's your love
It's you
It's you, it's you
Never leave, never leave me
Never leave, never leave me