Wrestling in the dark with unbelief,
Hiding from your eyes my sins so base.
I was born clutching a fig leaf,
A broken image alive in disgrace.

In a world of sinners I am the chief.
Your halls of light I would only efface
With my unclean presence, however brief.
You call to me, and when I don’t come, chase,

But catching me can’t bring relief.
Feeling like a canker in this pristine place,
Knowing one look at my face will bring you grief,
I push away, run back to my space

For all your promises I hear with disbelief.
How can you offer hope called grace
To a lying adulterous proud thief?
Do I dare return—could you really replace

Soiled robes with stainless, just by my belief?
Is it too astounding for me to embrace,
To let go of my fig leaf
And fall on your grace?