to humbly stumble, singularly in the company of more than we may think

If you could stand in my shoes,

see the world through my eyes,

your certainty and your triumph

may grow thin.

When expectation disappoints you.

When tears flow like rivers,

when all the circles

count you out not in.

There's a place of comfort

for lonesome weary travellers,

for all the sinking sailors

throwing excess cargo over the side.

This I know for sure now,

there's path well-trodden,

I've been to the gates of grace and they're open wide


There's a killing ground for demons.

A hanging frame for torment.

A life poured out for judgement's final cry.

Where blood was spent for liars,

for desperate last throw gamblers,

for addicts and for wanderers under dark skies.

Take it from an expert

in undercover operations,

take it from a man

who stumbled on his pride.

There's a place for losers,

for lonesome desperadoes -

I've been to the gates of grace and they're open wide


The cross still stands.

The blood still flows.

Forgiveness runs

and love abides

The welcome holds.

The friendship sure -

Sees no colour

takes no sides.


There's a place I've found

where the worn and bruised can come and lie.

I've been to the gates,

up to the gates,

I've found the gates of grace

and they're open wide.