The Vision is Jesus
Obsessively
Dangerously
Undeniably
Jesus
The Vision is an army of young people
You see bones? I see an army
And they are free from materialism
They laugh at 9-5 little prisons
They could eat caviar on Monday and crusts on Tuesday
They wouldn't even notice
They know the meaning of the matrix; the way the west was won
They are mobile like the wind, they belong to the nations
They need no passport
People write their addresses in pencil, and wonder at their strange existence
They are free, yet they are slaves of the hurting, and dirty and dying
What is the Vision?
The Vision is holiness that hurts the eyes
It makes children laugh, and adults angry
It gave up the game of minimum integrity long ago, to reach for the stars
It scorns the good and strains for the best
It is dangerously pure
Light flickers from every secret motive
Every private conversation
It loves people away from their suicide Leaps, their Satan games
This is an army that would lay down it's life for the cause
A million times a day its soldiers choose to lose,
That they might one day win
the great well done of faithful sons and daughters
Such heroes are as radical on monday morning as on Sunday night
They don't need fame from names
Instead the grin quietly upwards
And here the crowds chanting again and again
"Come on!"
And this is the sound of the underground
The whisper of history in the making
Foundations shaking, Revolutionaries dreaming once again
Mystery is scheming in whispers
Conspiracy is breathing
This is the sound of the underground
And the army is disciplined
Young people who beat their bodies into submission
Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrade in arms
The tattoo on their back boast "for me to live is Christ, and to die is gain"
Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their upward eyes
Winners, Martyrs, who can stop them?
Can hormones hold them back?
Can failure succeed?
Can fear scare them, or death kill them?
And a generation prays like a dieing man with groans beyond talking
With warrior cries, sulphuric tears, and with great barrow loads of laughter.
Waiting
Watching
24-7-365
Whatever it takes they will give
Breaking the rules
Shaking mediocrity from it's cozy little hide;
Laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs
Laughing at labels, Fasting essentials
The advertisers cannot mold them
Hollywood cannot hold them
Peer pressure is powerless to shake their resolve at late night parties before the cockerel cries.
They are incredibly cool, dangerously attractive, on the inside
On the outside they hardly care
They wear costumes to communicate, and to celebrate
But never to hide
Would they surrender their image? Or their popularity
They would lay down their very lives
Swap seats with the man on death row, guilty as hell
A throne for an electric chair
With blood and sweat and many tears
With sleepless nights and fruitless days
They pray as if it all depends on God
And live as if it all depends on them
Their DNA chooses Jesus
He Breathes out they breath in
Their sub-conscience sings
They had a blood transfusion with Jesus
Their words make demons scream in shopping malls
Don't you hear them coming?
Herald the weirdos, summon the losers and the freaks
Here come the frightened and forgoten, with fire in their eyes
They walk tall and trees applaud, Skyscrapers bow, Mountains are dwarfed
By these children of another
dimension
Their prayers summon the hounds of heaven and invoke the ancient dream of eden
It will come to pass
It will come easily
It will come soon
How do I know?
Because this is the longing of creation itself
The groaning of the spirit
The very dream of God
My tomorrow is His today
My distant hope is his 3D
And my feeble whispered faithless prayer
Invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone shaking "Amen!"
From Countless Angels, from heroes of the faith, from Christ himself
And He is the original dreamer
The ultimate winner
Guaranteed
