The Unpainted Picture

All the while I was painting you
I was painting you
I couldn’t see that you
Were never painting me.
Amid these false lies and fireflies
I whisper that nothing broken here
Can ever be fixed.
Nothing torn through here
Will ever be repaired.
Oh, sweet repair to come from
Not my own hands, but hearts above.
The song I sang was wrong
For you, not who it should
For them, not for Him.
But you didn’t sing me again.
You sang another
You sang another lie, lie with them.
Beset the blossoms in my hair,
Of my own doing, not your speech.
Not His hands, not your eyes.
To me they stray, from me
They hate.
Oh sing the song again.
Broken heart Rejoicer,
Repair after tornadoes,
Bless after hurricanes,
Sleep after insomnia,
Rest in my hands.