Fix yourself with crooked wings
And damn yourself for doing mortal things.
In the wake of filthy hands there is nothing pure-

My testimony stands.
I'll tell the world with a crooked grin
I've got no more-

I've got no more to give.

I use to try my best til I stopped trying.

Now, my sins are just some paint that will wait to dry
Because if the King exists, his heart is like a Lions'
And he will wash it all away with turpentine.


Faith is empty promises so I'll stick with Hope-
It's got more room to give.

In the wake of filthy hands there is nothing pure-
My testimony stands.
So, I'll tell the world with a crooked grin

I've got no more-
I've got no room to give.


I use to try my best til I stopped trying.
Now, my sins are just some paint that will wait to dry
Because if the King exists, his heart is like a Lions'

And he will wash it all away with turpentine.