WAKE UP

I’m met by a mountain of metal, the welder’s bright flame  
And a sea of good talk—man, I’m down for that game.  
Ready to dive into any debate under the sky,  
Head-first in whatever dilemma is passing us by.

Twenty years on the clock, every shift I have worn,  
Never once did I regret that I picked up this torch.  
Whoever chooses this trade stays busy and fed—  
But the track isn’t about that; something else fills my head.

I know in the shop the main talk will roll  
Around the same topic it always does—God and the soul.  
I’ll hear the same stories, the same well-worn lines:  
“Why don’t you believe—yeah, you—why’s God not in your minds?”

[Chorus]  
Man, the load is so heavy that we all drag around—  
It’s the weight of the crowd that keeps pinning you down.  
You think you’re objective? I hate to break it:  
Your mind’s still asleep—wake up, for heaven’s sake!

I love the tall tales about aliens in space  
Who built all the pyramids in the Egyptians’ place.  
I’ll nod to karma, Vanga, Dalai Lama, too—  
Buddha, Krishna, nirvana, whatever floats you.

Meditation, yoga, the yeti, the scrolls—  
They’ll swear Jesus chilled in China and fathered a couple of souls.  
They’ll whisper of secret spots on the map  
Where folks get healed on the spot—just like that.

Next Tuesday’s the end of the world—same as before  
“Kill the lights, sit tight, couple hours, no more.”  
Then the debate will ignite the old, tired refrain:  
“There were never real Jews, but they’re still to blame.”

They’ll tell me Tyson turned Muslim—so what?  
Iron Mike ain’t my compass; he’s not even close.  
“Did you bless your kulich for Easter?” they’ll prod.  
What does that loaf have to do with the rescue of God?

They’ll tag me with cults, dark sects in the night,  
Recall “Jehovah’s” and “White Brotherhood” fright.  
“We live in barracks, sold off our flats,” they’ll accuse.  
I’ll smile—again—if the strength in me lasts.

“Great Lent ain’t for you, Mr. Holier-Than-Thou,”  
Some self-made expert will throw at me now.  
“You fast, but why bother? You missed the whole point—  
You walked right past Christ and never looked up.”

Bring in a scholar, he’ll shatter your view;  
I hear the next swing in this word-fencing duel.  
Bring your PhD, bring whoever you can—  
No one can cancel the Word that began.

Who’s Wolf Messing next to the God who is real?  
Why doesn’t the Gospel hit you like high-voltage steel?  
The Truth keeps on calling—step out in the light;  
Some rise to the dawn, some sink out of sight.

Some laugh in your face, some can’t meet your eyes;  
From where you are standing you can’t see the skies.  
Jesus loves every soul, but you slammed the door—  
When He comes back, you’ll have nothing in store.

Every thief gets a chance to steal, that’s clear,  
Every waverer a chance to just disappear.  
But whoever is chosen will surely be saved;  
Whoever runs to the Christ won’t be turned away.

It baffles me how many forgot about grace—  
“Just be a good person”—I hear that line everyplace.  
When I preach the Good News, “You’re kinda extreme,”  
“Light a candle, bow down—sure, that’s fine, that’s routine.

But the way that you do it? Man, that’s over the top.”  
“Stop chasing illusions,” I tell them, “just stop.”  
“I don’t believe in God, but I don’t disbelieve;  
How can you sit on that fence?”—they can’t conceive.

“Yeah, something is out there—who knows what it is?  
We’ll live and we’ll see,” and the talk fizzles to mist.  
But there are darker stories, ones harder to tell—  
Someone on the edge cried out and broke their own spell.

God heard and God answered—yet the heart stayed cold,  
The rescue arrived, but the soul never took hold.  
They tell me the children are what really count—  
And yes, for their forever we all must account.

So let’s drop every shrug, every careless cliché;  
We’re shaping the place where our kids spend their days.  
I’m tired of this chatter, the same scratched-up grooves,  
Of minds bent and scarred by the sin that still moves.

[Break]

[Chorus]  
Yeah, the load is so heavy that we all drag around—  
It’s the weight of the crowd that keeps pinning you down.  
You think you’re objective? I hate to break it:  
Your mind’s still asleep—wake up, for heaven’s sake!

4959/7500

Glory to the Creator—another day has begun Seven on my watch, I’m walking to work in the sun Up at six? I’d rather have stayed in the sack But I love this steel yard and I’m glad to be back. I’m met by a mountain of metal, the welder’s bright flame And a sea of good talk—man, I’m down for that game. Ready to dive into any debate under the sky, Head-first in whatever dilemma is passing us by. Twenty years on the clock, every shift I have worn, Never once did I regret that I picked up this torch. Whoever chooses this trade stays busy and fed— But the track isn’t about that; something else fills my head. I know in the shop the main talk will roll Around the same topic it always does—God and the soul. I’ll hear the same stories, the same well-worn lines: “Why don’t you believe—yeah, you—why’s God not in your minds?” [Chorus] Man, the load is so heavy that we all drag around— It’s the weight of the crowd that keeps pinning you down. You think you’re objective? I hate to break it: Your mind’s still asleep—wake up, for heaven’s sake! I love the tall tales about aliens in space Who built all the pyramids in the Egyptians’ place. I’ll nod to karma, Vanga, Dalai Lama, too— Buddha, Krishna, nirvana, whatever floats you. Meditation, yoga, the yeti, the scrolls— They’ll swear Jesus chilled in China and fathered a couple of souls. They’ll whisper of secret spots on the map Where folks get healed on the spot—just like that. Next Tuesday’s the end of the world—same as before “Kill the lights, sit tight, couple hours, no more.” Then the debate will ignite the old, tired refrain: “There were never real Jews, but they’re still to blame.” They’ll tell me Tyson turned Muslim—so what? Iron Mike ain’t my compass; he’s not even close. “Did you bless your kulich for Easter?” they’ll prod. What does that loaf have to do with the rescue of God? They’ll tag me with cults, dark sects in the night, Recall “Jehovah’s” and “White Brotherhood” fright. “We live in barracks, sold off our flats,” they’ll accuse. I’ll smile—again—if the strength in me lasts. “Great Lent ain’t for you, Mr. Holier-Than-Thou,” Some self-made expert will throw at me now. “You fast, but why bother? You missed the whole point— You walked right past Christ and never looked up.” [Chorus] Man, the load is so heavy that we all drag around— It’s the weight of the crowd that keeps pinning you down. You think you’re objective? I hate to break it: Your mind’s still asleep—wake up, for heaven’s sake! Bring in a scholar, he’ll shatter your view; I hear the next swing in this word-fencing duel. Bring your PhD, bring whoever you can— No one can cancel the Word that began. Who’s Wolf Messing next to the God who is real? Why doesn’t the Gospel hit you like high-voltage steel? The Truth keeps on calling—step out in the light; Some rise to the dawn, some sink out of sight. Some laugh in your face, some can’t meet your eyes; From where you are standing you can’t see the skies. Jesus loves every soul, but you slammed the door— When He comes back, you’ll have nothing in store. Every thief gets a chance to steal, that’s clear, Every waverer a chance to just disappear. But whoever is chosen will surely be saved; Whoever runs to the Christ won’t be turned away. [Chorus] Man, the load is so heavy that we all drag around— It’s the weight of the crowd that keeps pinning you down. You think you’re objective? I hate to break it: Your mind’s still asleep—wake up, for heaven’s sake! It baffles me how many forgot about grace— “Just be a good person”—I hear that line everyplace. When I preach the Good News, “You’re kinda extreme,” “Light a candle, bow down—sure, that’s fine, that’s routine. But the way that you do it? Man, that’s over the top.” “Stop chasing illusions,” I tell them, “just stop.” “I don’t believe in God, but I don’t disbelieve; How can you sit on that fence?”—they can’t conceive. “Yeah, something is out there—who knows what it is? We’ll live and we’ll see,” and the talk fizzles to mist. But there are darker stories, ones harder to tell— Someone on the edge cried out and broke their own spell. God heard and God answered—yet the heart stayed cold, The rescue arrived, but the soul never took hold. They tell me the children are what really count— And yes, for their forever we all must account. So let’s drop every shrug, every careless cliché; We’re shaping the place where our kids spend their days. I’m tired of this chatter, the same scratched-up grooves, Of minds bent and scarred by the sin that still moves. [Break] [Chorus] Yeah, the load is so heavy that we all drag around— It’s the weight of the crowd that keeps pinning you down. You think you’re objective? I hate to break it: Your mind’s still asleep—wake up, for heaven’s sake!

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