Miracle Worker

[Part I: The Parted Sea Makes a Way]

[Verse 1]

You were breath when I had none,

A whisper under a weary sun.

I held you like a secret flame,

Something fragile I couldn’t name.

Not loud, not sudden—just there,

Like warmth returning to cold air.

You came soft as falling light,

And stayed like morning after night.

[Verse 2]

I learned the rhythm of your voice,

And found in stillness, I had a choice.

To build with care, to move with grace,

To make a home inside your face.

We shared the little sacred things:

Hands on backs, coffee rings,

Notes on mirrors, shoes by doors—

Moments that meant even more.

[Verse 3]

I watched you laugh beneath the rain,

The way it softened all your pain.

Miracle, not loud or proud,

But in the way you stood your ground.

And every time you said my name,

It echoed back and didn’t shame.

You were the stillness in my chest,

Proof that I could love my best.

[Pre-Chorus]

And I swore I’d guard it like the sea—

Every tide, each memory.

I’d walk the desert, drink the drought,

If it meant not snuffing this out.

[Chorus]

You were the Lazarus in me,

Life where none was meant to be.

You were laughter from the grave,

A soul I never planned to save.

Every breath you gave me back,

I held like stars in something black.

But even miracles, I’ve learned,

Can flicker when the fire is burned.

[Part II: I Rebuild Jericho]

[Verse 4]

So brick by brick, I start again,

But not to build—just to defend.

Jericho rises from my fear,

A wall to push you out of here.

The sea that split begins to swell,

I fill the gap, I craft the hell.

The sun you gave, I shade with doubt,

I let the candle sputter out.

[Verse 5]

I said I’d guard it—didn’t I?

But now I watch the garden die.

I rot the fruit, I choke the vine,

I say it’s yours when it was mine.

Like Lazarus who walks away,

Back to his tomb the very next day.

The miracle wasted on my breath,

A man who chooses his own death.

[Bridge]

I had the chance to live redeemed,

To walk with light, to live the dream.

But chaos calls in quiet tones,

And I return to dust and bones.

You watched me pull the temple down,

Stone by stone without a sound.

What kind of man survives the grave,

Just to refuse the life he craves?

[Chorus]

You were the Lazarus in me,

Proof that even death could flee.

You were the hand that reached inside,

And pulled me back the day I died.

But I am not the kind to keep

What matters most. I let it seep.

And now you’re just a sacred bruise,

A miracle I chose to lose.

[Verse 6]

I traded love for quiet hate,

Burned the bridge and sealed the gate.

The light grew loud, so I turned blind,

Ashamed of what I hoped to find.

I told myself that I was cursed,

That nothing good survives me first.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part—

You gave me life, I gave you scars.

[Outro]

Now I’m just a man undone,

By holy things I could’ve won.

I carry you like folded prayer,

Unspoken, heavy, always there.

The miracle is ash and smoke,

A vow undone, a tether broke.

If I was Lazarus, then see—

I died again, but this time free.

I was the wound beneath the grace,

The hand that trembled, then erased.

The silence left when something breaks.