At what point does the fake become real
At what point will my heart feel
the stirring of light
At what point will death turn to life
At what point will joy become rife
overcoming the trite
I see no future apart from Him
I see no love when I wallow in sin
He captures the stealer and sentenced him there
to freedom I'm called, in freedom Ill win
The soul is made right by the leaving of pride
no place for the vain, for vanity lied
The shouts of the victor have startled His foes
The grace of a savior to me was applied
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