How could I ever think that anything was pretty when you’re gone?
But you’re not gone, yet.
How could I ever laugh, or be happy to hear my favorite song,
After you’re gone? Yet…
Life keeps moving not only on the street but here for me,
And soon you’re gone.
I don’t know how to go on, but all I do is just go on.
When people die it’s ‘cause they’re old or sick or even murdered too.
But that’s not you, yet.
I know you’re sick but somehow it still seems like this just can’t be true:
That it’s not you. Yet…
Life keeps moving not only on the street but here for me,
And soon you’re gone.
I don’t know how to go on, but all I do is just go on.
(You know the saying “shit happens”? Well this is what I think:
God can even make this shit smell nice but right now all I know is that it still stinks.)
I’m sure all things work for the good, but where’s the good working for us?
We have to trust
That God can take all of this pain and evil, suffering and death
And make it beautiful again.
How could I ever sing of beauty when you’ve suffered long and hard,
And all for us?
Your pains much greater than the worst we face that even leave us scars,
And all for you.
Life moves again but in a way that couldn’t possibly be known
Until you came. (Until you left.)
Bring peace and hope and joy and grace to make it through (not on our own)
All of this pain. (This pain of death.)
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