Sixpence None The Richer. Divine Discontent. Dizzy. Zeneszám

I'm like Thomas doubting
fingers routing the scars
in Your wrists and side
touching flesh will make my mind believe

but I want to be like David
throwing his clothes to the wind
to dance a jig in my skin
and be remade by your cleansing again

Chorus
I give you myself, it's all that I have
broken and frail, I'm clay in your hands
and I'm spinning unconcealed
dizzy on this wheel for you, my love

I'm like Peter crying
crowing burning my ears
still you come near
You take my hand and place in my palm
an eternal chance

[ Instrumental-Bridge ]

- Chorus -