A child awaits his shotgun birth.
His mother in her own right, a kid,
is filling out the papers.
And as she finishes the sheets,
she remembers how white they used to be.
So she forged her mother's signature because father is a minister.
They couldn't know.
She wept,
because she don't believe
that God's grace can reach to them;
her and her last sin.
They were too much for him
It takes more than a sin to leave. I see a black sedan,
a shreddered dress, and a family man.
Beneath a motel fan,
there trembled three ringless hands.
And he wept,
as did she,
because God's grace don't reach to them.
Not after their last sin.
Some things he can't forgive.
It takes more than a sin to leave. They call me a backslider.
That's not the case.
I'm not climbing a mountain,
I'm just digging my grave.
The devil would say to leave,
just dig.
There are no white gates for me,
to open,
just benign grace stretched thin.
It takes more than a sin ...
Say it again. It takes more than a sin ... It takes ...
It takes more than a sin ...
Son don't leave.

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