Resentment
Levi the Poet Lyrics

It's like the spirit answered all of my prayers, and now I resent him for it.
I used to pray fervently and now that my prayers have been answered, I feel resentment towards the one who answered them.

Well, I used to take so much time for myself to just sit and be silent,
I used to prioritize alone time and silence, finding solace in it.

I haven't heard that sound in years,
I haven't been able to experience that sense of peace and quiet for a long time.

but I've replaced it with a lot of voices that claimed to be god.
Instead, I've filled that silence with the voices of others who claimed to speak for God.

The first poem I ever wrote was about San Francisco, and the homeless and what I was told;
The very first poem I wrote was about San Francisco, focusing on the homeless and the information I was given.

I was twelve years old and I rhymed "poor white bro" with "chips of Nabisco" given to a beggar as he pushed his cart down the road.
At the age of twelve, I wrote a poem that included a rhyme of "poor white bro" with "chips of Nabisco," symbolizing an act of generosity towards a beggar.

That boy got buried at Height & Asbury, beneath the Ben & Jerry's and a big city and a pretty girl is the only thing that gets his heart to beating again.
That young boy was laid to rest at a specific location, Height & Asbury, beneath the presence of a busy city and the comfort of a pretty girl who is the only source of his happiness.

But this all used to be for nothing and no one, and now I shout transparency, but I miss all of my secrets.
Everything I did in the past felt meaningless, but now I strive for transparency while simultaneously longing for the secrecy I once had.

I would rather know pain than be numb, but then again, we asked for the opiates to numb the pain for us.
I prefer to experience pain rather than numbing myself, but at times, we actively seek drugs to numb our pain.

Will I always fall asleep to dream to of mending up my wounds, then wake to spend the day reliving every bruise for the sake of a sad song,
Will I forever go to sleep dreaming of healing my wounds, only to wake up and relive the pain for the sake of creating sad music?

or a sweet repose, or seeing the blood flow from the stitching like it were a cavalry of demons in retreat, promising to leave me alone?
Or maybe I'm seeking a moment of peace or excitement, even if it means reopening my wounds and feeling the pain, as if the act of facing my demons will offer me relief.

They're liars.
Those promises are empty lies.

The release is never as satisfying as the promise to fix what's been sewn.
The feeling of release and relief is never as fulfilling as the initial promise of healing and fixing what has been damaged.

We get bottled up like the alcohol gets bottled up and then we bottle it up in us, and I search for ways to define myself by some skeptical lack of trust,
We suppress our emotions and keep them bottled up within us, just like alcohol in a bottle. I try to find my identity through a skeptical lack of trust in others.

because if I can't trust in anything, then I'm not to blame for my lack of movement, and I can abuse everyone's pity, and I can convolute it.
If I refuse to trust anything or anyone, I can avoid taking responsibility for my own stagnation. I can manipulate and distort everyone's sympathy for my own benefit.

My sister used to sing when she was younger, but the world, it got at her throat, and she put that dream away while coming of age acted as a serpent, and questioned her home.
My sister used to have a passion for singing when she was younger, but the harsh realities and pressures of the world silenced her. As she grew older, she began to question her sense of belonging and her dreams.

When I was young, I wanted to be a cowboy, and then I wanted to be Superman.
In my childhood, I aspired to be a cowboy, and then my desire shifted to wanting to be Superman.

And then I wanted to wear my cowboy boots over my Superman costume, and be Cowman… well I am a cow, man, all of my fantasies about my wife to be are based upon things I should have never seen
I even had the idea of combining my desire to be a cowboy and Superman, imagining myself as 'Cowman'. However, as a cow, all of my fantasies about my future wife are influenced by inappropriate experiences.

(said all our fantasies about our wives to be are based on positions that should have never been…)
(It can be said that all our fantasies about our future wives are shaped by experiences that shouldn't have occurred...)

Idolized by our eyes – worshipped as though they gave us life, but that's the nature of the beast, and he still squirms next to wisdom as she screams, clawing for me on the streets.
We worship our partners as if they hold the power to give us life, but this nature of obsession still lurks within us despite our pursuit of wisdom. It constantly haunts us, demanding our attention and affection.

And how does life begin as a seed, that turns to scream out for something, like someone misnamed "gift" for "to be inherently found wanting"?
How does life, starting off as something innocent and promising like a seed, later yearn for something, as if it is mistakenly referred to as a 'gift' when it feels inherently lacking?

If there is so much joy to be had, then tell me where I went wrong, because for all the times I've tried to satisfy my mom, I still cannot write a joyful song.
If there is truly an abundance of joy in life, then explain to me where I made a mistake, because despite my efforts to please my mother, I am unable to create a joyful song.

"So, mom, I tried, and near October, I thought that I could do it, but November threw us in to a whirlwind again, and come January, I knew it: all the things I told my fans about the hope that I had found are lying in a hotel bathroom, in a puddle of blood on the ground."
"Mom, I really gave it my all. Around October, I truly believed that I could achieve happiness, but November brought chaos into our lives once again. By January, I realized that all the hope I preached to my fans was just a facade. It's lying in a hotel bathroom, soaked in blood."

And someone will love it because it's honest, and someone will hate it because it's crude, but as for me: for every time I give my testimony to a crowd, I'll lie awake at night and wonder about whether or not I've told the truth. God, forgive me.
Some people will appreciate my honesty, while others will criticize the crudeness of it. However, personally, every time I share my story with a crowd, I will lie awake at night questioning the authenticity of my words. God, please forgive me.

I believe a lot of lies that come from the mouths of a lot of good liars, (namely: me).
I easily believe the lies told by skilled and convincing deceivers, particularly when I am the one deceiving myself.

And I'd rather tie a millstone around my neck and throw myself into the sea than perpetuate some emotionally-driven blasphemy that you don't care for the suffering.
I would rather suffer a fate as grim as tying a heavy millstone around my neck and drowning myself in the sea than continue promoting emotionally-driven blasphemy that disregards the suffering you care about.

Suffering servant, give your children eyes to see the wonders that you have for them, and ears to hear the direction for their wandering, wandering feet.
Oh, suffering servant, grant your children the ability to perceive the wonders you have in store for them. Let them also hear your guidance for their wandering, restless souls.

Grieve with me!
Please share in my grief!

(Will you grieve with me?) Oh at the cross, the promise we receive: "I will grieve with you with groanings too deep for words, I will sympathize with the temptation to believe the lies that you have heard, I will mourn over the loss of finite family and friends, and I will defeat death so that you will know that death is not the end."
(Will you grieve with me?) Oh, at the cross, we are given the promise: "I will join you in your grief, expressing it with groans that cannot be put into words. I will understand the temptation to believe the lies that have influenced you. I will mourn over the loss of limited time with family and friends, and I will conquer death to show you that it is not the end."

So at the cross of Christ I know that the bonds of sin are broken, that they bar the gates of hell for me and heaven's doors are open as wide as my sweet Savior's arms were stretched out when he died, and that love has defeated death with a life for me to hope in.
Through the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross, I understand that the grip of sin has been shattered, preventing the gates of hell from consuming me. In turn, the doors of heaven are open wide, just as wide as the outstretched arms of my loving Savior at the moment of his death. Love has triumphed over death, providing me with a life to embrace and find hope in.

At the cross of Christ I know that despair has been removed, that it drowns beneath the crushing weight of hope as found in you.
Through the cross of Christ, I am aware that despair has been eradicated. It is overwhelmed and suffocated by the overwhelming weight of hope that is found in a relationship with you.

As blood flows and puddles to cover every self-inflicted bruise, murder becomes salvation, the resurrected truth.
As blood flows and accumulates to conceal the self-inflicted wounds, the act of murder transforms into an act of salvation. It represents the resurrected truth.

At the cross of Christ I know that anger has found its vengeance, that righteousness became sin for me and that only at the remembrance of a man acquainted with sorrows do I stand forgiven of my resentment, as wrath and justice turn aside to crucify my defendant.
Through the cross of Christ, I understand that anger has found its rightful retribution. Righteousness took on the form of sin for my sake, and it is only through the recollection of a man who intimately experienced sorrow that I find forgiveness for my resentment. The concepts of wrath and justice are redirected to crucify the one accused in my place.

At the cross of Christ I know that shame has lost it's place, that Jesus Christ endured the curse and scorned all the disgrace, and atoned before the throne as death fled without a trace, that I might enter in and look full on his wonderful face.
Through the cross of Christ, I realize that shame has been stripped of its power. Jesus Christ willingly bore the weight of the curse and disregarded all the disgrace. He made atonement before God's throne, causing death to retreat completely. As a result, I am now able to enter and behold the magnificent face of Jesus without shame.