People tend to lose their faith,
In this funny thing we call the human race.
Nobody comes in first,
But it drags out this competitive thirst.
There's no golden finish line,
And not everything will turn out fine.
And no it's not the concellation prize,
It's the glory shining in your eyes.
There is not a trophy here on earth,
No way to judge a single soul's worth.
It's that palace up above the clouds,
Where forgiveness and redemption is found.