When will the weak shame the strong
And not collapse into our own arms?
When?
When will we raise our flags past half-mast
And not, and not collapse into our own arms?
But shame will keep us who we are.

Shame is the anchor tied around my ankle.
Shame keeps me low and close to the bottom,
Where I am the least,
At the bottom.

Where pride has never been and never will.
The swell of my chest!
I can stand on good things,
And even call this bravery,
But dare I, dare I?

How dare I call this love,
And not bear my cross to the end?
How dare I call this love,
And not bear my cross to the end?
(How dare I?) How dare I?

And how can I call this love when all that I am
Is because Your love endures my back to it?
Your love endures my back to it.
Your love endures my back to it.
My back to it!

My back to it!

See also:
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