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137 (usa) - subtleties lyrics

[fulton sheen ai]
you wicked and slothful servant
you ought to have invested my money
with the bankers
and at my coming i should have received
what was my own with interest
so take the talent from him
and give it to him who has the ten talents
for to everyone who has will more be given
but from him who has not
even what he has will be taken away

[137]
fine line between patience and complacence
seen it crossed more than lines across t’s
affliction and affection share resemblance
you can be, crucified, on the subtle t’s

there is a time to be adorned
with a crown of th_rns
and there’s a time to flip tables
outside of your father’s temple
there’s a time to turn your cheek
when the mob does violence seek
and a time to crush a golden calf
and altars disassemble
due, to ken accrued
smile would i, even if surely doomed

i have pondered the more troublesome
unworthy captain or mutinous crew

life’s a game of chutes and ladders
i was fain to choose the latter

jackson pollock would perceive the art
i see in sweat splatter

intent, not content, makes a question sour
we are contoured by our queries
and defined by how we chase their resolutions
whether we do cower
at answer’s confrontation
or if the pursuit, does us devour

[crescent wrench]
the enemy stands at your door
tell me son
what are you running for
what are you running from
where are you running to
yet, remains the question, of “running for whom”
do you compete for a worthy prize
what disciplines do you exercise
do you serve only flesh
or the spirit, too
for the day will surely come
when one or both are entombed
[137]
you will never find yourself while hiding
and your forward movement’s hampered
when each step of your neighbor you covet
prophets share the fate of banquet midst the starving

glory be to the father, son, and the holy spirit
i sing praise, and i celebrate his grace
every gift he gave me, i assure won’t go to waste

i am fond of the flavor of fear’s capitulation
i enjoy my meals cold
they taste like work’s completion

rather get lost, in the right direction
than to ken the path, to my own destruction

be the one to throw, the tea, in harbor
than to love or grudges harbor

pushed myself to the breaking point
in the past
to test the workflow

e’en my vices are devisèd
beware ware sin sews
beware where sin sows
i, take, my breaks at work so i don’t catch small_mindedness
goals of my employer won’t be all my heart pursues
mind is told each time i skip my break
that my own time mean less
had to choose

i don’t shadow box, nor punch square in the face
i win with the body blows i throw every day
but not so much as the ones that i receive
contrition over attrition if the eternal prize is to be achieved

[fulton sheen ai]
and cast the worthless servant
into the outer darkness
where there shall be weeping
and gnashing of t__th

- 137 usa lyrics

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