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Between The Lions and Quiet

Lyrics: I’ve learned my life is made of chain reactions— not lightning bolts, not sudden storms, just the slow unravel of one small wound tugging on another. A fight at home, a voice raised wrong, a look that feels like judgment— and suddenly the whole day tilts, my mind slipping into that familiar spiral where focus frays, purpose flickers, and every shadow looks like failure waiting to happen. I know the pattern too well: distraction becomes doubt, doubt becomes temptation, temptation becomes the quiet death I swear I’m done dying from. Then comes the overeating, the smoking, the energy drinks I chase like shaky armor for a body already waving the white flag. It’s strange how a man can love what destroys him just because it numbs the burn of everything he doesn’t know how to fix. But even so, there are moments where the world throws me a rope— like stepping onto a new machine at work, feeling the weight of trust on my shoulders, or picking up a guitar with a coworker, letting music open a window in a room that’s been heavy too long. Those sparks of purpose steady me. They remind me I’m not living on a fault line, no matter how fragile it feels. My wife, her parents, their compassion—it holds me, even when I can’t hold myself. They see the whole battle, not just the bruises. And still, there are nights I sit in my truck outside the house, engine ticking like a tired heartbeat, whispering half-formed prayers into the dark. Not polished prayers. Not preacher words. Just a man with a broken mind trying to lift the pieces to God one trembling sentence at a time. I tell Him I want to hate the sin before it steals anything, to be disenchanted enough to recognize the trap before it snaps. I ask Him for patience— not miracles, not sudden sainthood— just enough grace to breathe slow, to not collapse under the weight of all the ways I’m trying to change. And sometimes the hardest prayer of all is letting myself believe I’m not the abandoned son my father’s silence tried to make me.