In the unredacted version of my life
I start at the end of the last page
Proofing it backwards taking out
Or putting in the commas
Stretching out the personal pictures
With the objective unseen half
Of what was really going on
But often I stop at a particular page
Breaking down and can't continue
That quiet day you were born
Isn't God's greatest glory
That he had a child to love
Who could give birth to him
Who could bring his heart to life
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