I’m in the chambers of myself; my life was placed upon the shelf.
And as I run so silently, within myself (ye cannot see);

I do my best to honor thee.

Despised by every one I see; into your presence I seek to flee.
Yet they without drag me off; Your very presence men seem to scoff.

I do my best to honor thee.

Everything I do is vain, and often causes so much pain;
My life lived in place of twilight, neither day, nor is it night.

Strapped by my body to this place, yet I live for heaven’s Grace,
A failure sure as man can be, though I live for victory.

All things will shake, fall to the sea; but mine: eternal destiny.
Must I live this shaken life? a place of needless, endless strife?

To escape the twilight place, and to live before Your Face…
My soul within a crumbling shack with many cares upon my back.

A Man I know once carried me – up Golgotha, to the tree
And there I died with Grace itself… so why: my life upon the shelf?

In Your flesh you made a place, that I might ever live with Grace;
By your body I am ignored; yet I can but seek the Lord.

My cracking voice calls out at night; but voice and all: an obscurred sight.
“Lift me out of twilight zone” my lonely soul does still bemoan.

The world is on its head, and I am between death and victory.