If I could ask a thousand eyes
 To take a look at me,
They’d see a liberated soul
 Who Jesus died to free,
But deep within this mortal shell
 Entwined in earth’s debris,
A dark reflection lies in wait—
 The Me they cannot see.

I’ve sensed his shadow many years
 (At least to some degree),
And felt him loosen up my tongue
 With ire or jealousy,
He blames my lack of self-control
 On genealogy—
But when the people stop and stare,
 They only look at me.

I cannot count the days and nights
 I’ve prayed on bended knee
To ask the Lord to intervene
 And set this scoundrel free,
But He replies, "My saving grace
 Is quite enough for thee,
So you might follow, not in pride,
 But in humility."

I’ve often heard two cannot walk
 Unless they both agree,
Yet I am forced to share his load
 By heavenly decree;
Perhaps someday he’ll fade away
 To anonymity—
Then nevermore shall I recall
 The Me I used to be.