I heard your stories. Mother, she read by my bed. Stories of faith and deliverance; grief and repentance too. I
heard your whispers. My father, he kneeled by my head. Whispers of strength and weakness; grace and
forgiveness too. Would you forgive me for being your son? I was a bad one. Would you forgive me for loving
you with the barrel of a gun? After all, I was a bad one. Angels are singing sweet lullabies as you let me freely
roam. I've sinned with the best of them. Now your son is coming home. Would you forgive me for being your
son? I was a bad one. Would you forgive me for loving you with the barrel of a gun? Would you forgive me for
being your son? I was a wayward one. Would you forgive me for loving you with my life as a prodigal son?