To be a damaged good is to be perfectly broken that way
Standing tall to a mosaic God
walks a woman like me in to a collapsed church
perfect place for a sinner desiring to be worshiped
but what am I to do when my halo becomes rusted?
I no longer shine like angels made in his image
pouring out my praise on an alter full of strangers
I begin to divulge in all the things that make me human
Am I still worthy?