If you want me to submit, I submit.
There. I said it. Please donít hurt me anymore.

If Iíve said it once, Iíve said it a million times:
Iíve been down this road before.

So many times Iíve seen this beginning,
So many tests and trials have begun right here.

O my GodóI know what you require of me:
The inevitable ending is clear.

Please can we cut to the chase, can we jump to the finish,
Can we just tally up the bottom line?

You owe me nothing: I owe you everything,
And I agree that the fault is all mine.

I agree to the pain; Iíll sign a doctorís release:
Jesus, just take your knife and get it over with quick.

Cut it off; amputate the limb, do it now!
Anything to end this lingering sick.

Yet you bandage and dress, and put balm on my wounds
Ignoring my heartfelt pleas.

Its almost as if you intend by sheer time and effort
To heal me of this loathsome disease.

Iím impatient. As the miles stretch ahead
All I can think of is the lengthening race.

I donít understand how it can help me
To continue at this crippling pace.

But as the hares dash on by, missing a limb or an eye
I am beginning to understand why the ending is sweet.

Your balm is not vain, your patience is my gain:
You intend for me to finish complete.

So this is the plan. At last I understand:
Haste is waste, and I should wait for the cure.

In the early hours on my hospital bed I pray
Loving Father, give me grace to endure.

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