The Watcher's Grace | (Lyrics)

I don’t believe in the devil,

And I do not perceive your fictional bud.
I surely don’t need your fear mongering,

Bastardizing all that I love.

Here, I raise my ebenezer,

Not fettered by thy false embrace.

No, come thou fount of every blessing,

My consciousness, the watcher’s grace.

I’ve got PTSD from The Bible.
I cringe and I shrink when I hear the word “God”,

For I’ve been neck-deep, and that ghost still haunts me,

Thus I carry that old rugged cross.

Here, I raise my ebenezer,

Not fettered by thy false embrace.

No, come thou fount of every blessing,

My consciousness, the watcher’s grace.