Into that lonesome, linguring state

That made us wonder if it was hope that was lost

For those who were buried 

By their own self-sustained fate

And didn't see or aknowledge what might me the cost

Because the weight of darkness caried

Was the blindfold on their eyes 

And their hearts were scortched with ties 

Of bondaging lies.

It was more than just a condition of mind

Because it's a matter of what 's in the heart

You'll find

But that was where

The strong mighty hand mended the tears

And the cries for freedom's existence 

Was hear above the silent, invincible, private stance

The Potter and the Artist of the prisoners

Did more than just give them the key

He molded them into something even blindmen can see

And with the undeniable care He turns

The cluster of broken lives of hurt's memories

That laid and seated in hardened, broken clay

And shatered glass of who they one were that stayed

And it was more than just shallow testimonies

So with His heart 

He made a conquering choice

And suddenly lifted His voice,

"This is all I am going to need

For when my prescence's fire is in the lead

I will create and mold wonderful things

That even brokeness and enemies sing

And make those chains suddenly fall

For everything that's beautiful, I'm the creator of all

And so when the Master did so

The masterpece was of the King

But not, the royalty's tender love wasn't low

Because that shattered glass and broken clay

Was only found in the Potter's hand that will forever stay.

So what are the witnesses going to do?

Well, maybe their broken hearts will sing

Or be transformed into distingushing displays too.

But if only their ownself they wouldn't lean

And then the True Artist can mend with the seam

Of light's love no soul can even dream

To make warriors of those on their knees

For He takes all heart's broken clay and glass 

And transforms them into treasure that will forever last.