Does the past have a crafting hand,

It seems each day mounds the shape I am.

Everyday we’re losing parts but it’s chips and cracks that prove the clay is ours.


Do you wake just to feel the weight,

of every missed chance and every mistake.

Won’t you share your heavy days?

Don’t be defined by the weight.


I wanna know your name, I wanna know your soul. What’s your religion, show your ghosts.

These Heavy Faces hold much more than what they show.

These Heavy Faces were not made to be alone.


Every birth is truly pure.

Every life is doomed to be flawed.

Even peace has fought its wars.

This fight is yours.



© 2017 by  SAM GIFFORD