"So, what do you do when you're home at night?"
HIS gaze cuts through like a blinding light.
It wasn't casual, no simple ask,
It was the weight of expectation, a loaded task.
Hours deep in another meeting,
Planning the church's needs, dissecting, gleaning.
Who's got talents we can claim?
Whose skills can we redirect in HIS name?
And there HE sits, HIS frustration growing,
With every question, the pressure's showing.
My silence screams louder than my words,
As HE waits for my time to be transferred.
It's never enough, what I give, what I do,
I'm stretched so thin, but I can't refuse.
The MASTER demands, HIS voice in my head,
Even when I'm home, it's like HE's in my bed.
Spare time is HIS time, and I feel the strain,
But all for GOOD reason, for HIS gain.
I flash back to when my phone would ring,
HIS name lights up, and my heart starts to sting.
"Hey, it's ME Lah-call back when you can."
But I know it's not a request, it's a command.
The church walls were rising, the paint fresh and bright,
But I had a game, a different kind of fight.
"I have to go," I whispered with guilt,
HIS disapproving glance made my resolve wilt.
Late nights spent on scaffold heights,
While basketball courts were out of sight.
I traded my time, my joy, my space,
For a MASTER's approval I couldn't erase.
It's never enough, what I give, what I do,
I'm stretched so thin, but I can't refuse.
The MASTER demands, HIS voice in my head,
Even when I'm home, it's like HE's in my bed.
Spare time is HIS time, and I feel the strain,
But all for GOOD reason, for HIS gain.
The farmland gift, the endless task,
Weekends lost, but I couldn't ask
Why we couldn't rest, just for a while,
When HIS anger met our sacrifice with a smile.
The Grand Final came and went,
But the work stayed, never heaven-sent.
Now, I sit in the meeting's close,
Ideas drafted, visions composed.
But deep down, I feel the weight,
Of always giving, never taking a break.
From mock brochures to data spread,
All for the church, while my spirit bled.
All in good time, for a vision so clear,
But the cost of my soul, the weight of the fear.
I give and I give, but when will it end?
Will I ever have time that's truly mine again?
The Willow Tree - My Time is YOURS Lyrics
The Willow Tree - My Time is YOURS Lyrics
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English
"So, what do you do when you're home at night?"
HIS gaze cuts through like a blinding light.
It wasn't casual, no simple ask,
It was the weight of expectation, a loaded task.
Hours deep in another meeting,
Planning the church's needs, dissecting, gleaning.
Who's got talents we can claim?
Whose skills can we redirect in HIS name?
And there HE sits, HIS frustration growing,
With every question, the pressure's showing.
My silence screams louder than my words,
As HE waits for my time to be transferred.
It's never enough, what I give, what I do,
I'm stretched so thin, but I can't refuse.
The MASTER demands, HIS voice in my head,
Even when I'm home, it's like HE's in my bed.
Spare time is HIS time, and I feel the strain,
But all for GOOD reason, for HIS gain.
I flash back to when my phone would ring,
HIS name lights up, and my heart starts to sting.
"Hey, it's ME Lah-call back when you can."
But I know it's not a request, it's a command.
The church walls were rising, the paint fresh and bright,
But I had a game, a different kind of fight.
"I have to go," I whispered with guilt,
HIS disapproving glance made my resolve wilt.
Late nights spent on scaffold heights,
While basketball courts were out of sight.
I traded my time, my joy, my space,
For a MASTER's approval I couldn't erase.
It's never enough, what I give, what I do,
I'm stretched so thin, but I can't refuse.
The MASTER demands, HIS voice in my head,
Even when I'm home, it's like HE's in my bed.
Spare time is HIS time, and I feel the strain,
But all for GOOD reason, for HIS gain.
The farmland gift, the endless task,
Weekends lost, but I couldn't ask
Why we couldn't rest, just for a while,
When HIS anger met our sacrifice with a smile.
The Grand Final came and went,
But the work stayed, never heaven-sent.
Now, I sit in the meeting's close,
Ideas drafted, visions composed.
But deep down, I feel the weight,
Of always giving, never taking a break.
From mock brochures to data spread,
All for the church, while my spirit bled.
All in good time, for a vision so clear,
But the cost of my soul, the weight of the fear.
I give and I give, but when will it end?
Will I ever have time that's truly mine again?
HIS gaze cuts through like a blinding light.
It wasn't casual, no simple ask,
It was the weight of expectation, a loaded task.
Hours deep in another meeting,
Planning the church's needs, dissecting, gleaning.
Who's got talents we can claim?
Whose skills can we redirect in HIS name?
And there HE sits, HIS frustration growing,
With every question, the pressure's showing.
My silence screams louder than my words,
As HE waits for my time to be transferred.
It's never enough, what I give, what I do,
I'm stretched so thin, but I can't refuse.
The MASTER demands, HIS voice in my head,
Even when I'm home, it's like HE's in my bed.
Spare time is HIS time, and I feel the strain,
But all for GOOD reason, for HIS gain.
I flash back to when my phone would ring,
HIS name lights up, and my heart starts to sting.
"Hey, it's ME Lah-call back when you can."
But I know it's not a request, it's a command.
The church walls were rising, the paint fresh and bright,
But I had a game, a different kind of fight.
"I have to go," I whispered with guilt,
HIS disapproving glance made my resolve wilt.
Late nights spent on scaffold heights,
While basketball courts were out of sight.
I traded my time, my joy, my space,
For a MASTER's approval I couldn't erase.
It's never enough, what I give, what I do,
I'm stretched so thin, but I can't refuse.
The MASTER demands, HIS voice in my head,
Even when I'm home, it's like HE's in my bed.
Spare time is HIS time, and I feel the strain,
But all for GOOD reason, for HIS gain.
The farmland gift, the endless task,
Weekends lost, but I couldn't ask
Why we couldn't rest, just for a while,
When HIS anger met our sacrifice with a smile.
The Grand Final came and went,
But the work stayed, never heaven-sent.
Now, I sit in the meeting's close,
Ideas drafted, visions composed.
But deep down, I feel the weight,
Of always giving, never taking a break.
From mock brochures to data spread,
All for the church, while my spirit bled.
All in good time, for a vision so clear,
But the cost of my soul, the weight of the fear.
I give and I give, but when will it end?
Will I ever have time that's truly mine again?
Writer: Stuart Alsop
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid