You were built for blessing, but you only make them bleed, but you don't care.
And bruises are but shadows of the blackness that you breed, but you don't care.
The light that's left inside their eyes is darkened day by day, but you don't care.
Your presence pulls the color from the world, 'till all is grey, but you don't care.
No, you don't 'cause you are less than half a man, yellow belly and crimson hands.
You will one day reap your reckoning, and maybe then you'll understand.
Your hands were made to comfort, but they only conjure fear, but you don't care.
And she's in the closet praying, "Lord, please get me out of here," but you don't care.
What mercy have they known from you, to ask that it be shown to you?