Walking the Narrow Road

Sunday mornin' wooden pews, the Bible cracked wide. Preacher says,

"Road is narrow, gotta turn like the tide" We were lost in the dark,

dirt caked on our boots. Sin weighed us down, it was deep

in our roots. Prayin' mamas, late night cries for the captive hearts controlled by

the lies. Not saved by works, no crowns we earn.

It's the cross on Calvary, that's the truth we learn. Old selves die

and new selves born. We're set apart like a Sunday morn.

Now we're walkin' the narrow road, the light our guide. Washed by the