Pulling a weed out of the ground
Brings a little bit of hell
Up around our ankles. 

It�s not so much that matters
The birds and weeds that die,
But what we bring into our lives.

We so blindly choose death 
Each and every day, and
Make hell the bed where we lay. 

Eyes wide open choose life,
Rising above the fray, and
Make heaven our home to stay.