Long ago I learned to talk,
Simple babble that it was.
Shortly thereafter,
I gained the art of sentences
And advanced in my vocabulary.
Yet, with all these advances,
Babble still is all I can manage.
No quick wit is quite so fair
As to hide my vulgar speech
That I try and pass as lovely.
Ironic that a wordsmith would
be so unable to truly speak.
For I tried to say 'I love you'
Just the other day
Only to find that the words
Escaped me.
This is my story
You can't write the prose
Without consulting me
This is my story
Only One may write it for me
And you could never be Him
This is my story
Don't think you know the pages so well
When the book isn't finished yet
This is my story
I'll script the chapters
You just read the lines
This is my story
My tale to tell
If you're lost, seek the Truth
This is my story
I'll pen it if you please
And He'll make the edits
This is my story
No one else's
So how could you know it better than me?