I am just an old guitar, dead wood and cold steel strings,
A hole inside an empty box, alone I cannot sing.
But when my master picks me up, holds me to his heart,
Look out baby here it comes, the music’s bound to start.
I am just a wayward sinner, my heart as cold as stone,
Evil, lies, lust and pride corrupt me to my bone.
But when my Master picks me up and cleans me inside out,
He warms my heart and gives me Love and I can sing and shout.
Praise Jesus, Praise Jesus, Praise sweet Jesus all day long,
Love Jesus, Love my sweet Jesus, Loving Jesus is my song.
If you’re feeling dead and empty your strings are pulled too tight,
And Satan’s got your whammy bar pulling with all his might.
Give yourself to Jesus, all of you, not some.
And He will get your life in tune and your misery is done.
Praise Jesus, Praise Jesus, Praise sweet Jesus all day long,
Love Jesus, Love my sweet Jesus, Loving Jesus is my song.
So, when my Jesus picks me up, holds me with His Hand,
He strums across my heart strings, a tune to beat the band.
And I can sing a love song, I could not sing alone,
This song that He brings from me, the greatest song I’ve known.
Praise Jesus, Praise Jesus, Praise sweet Jesus all day long,
Love Jesus, Love my sweet Jesus, Loving Jesus is my song.
Tertius
O God, let me sing a new song to you,
let me play it on a twelve-string guitar.
Psalms 144:9
A note about, “Luthier, Composer, Picker Sublime”: I read a poem once about a violin. It was made with the best wood, built very carefully with utmost craftsmanship and was worth a lot of money. But it was pretty much useless until (not just anybody) but a master violinist brought it to life. Then and only then did it do the job it was created for. This same theme transposed for guitar. The difference between us and a musical instrument is if we have free choice, if we let our Creator complete in us what He had intended.