Streetlight flicker, halo on the hood,
Smoke in the mirror, misunderstood.
I been tryin’ to find peace in the noise,
Prayin’ with a whisper, drownin’ out the voice.
Every sin feel small at this hour,
Every truth still got a little power.
I ain’t saved, but I’m here —
And maybe that’s close enough, this year.

No choir, no crown, no grace to prove,
Just the hum of the city and a soul that moves.

Sunday at midnight,
Talkin’ to my shadow ‘bout gettin’ right.
No scripture, just streetlight,
And a little mercy on the mic tonight.
Sunday at midnight,
I ain’t holy, but I might try.

Ashtray sermon, cigarette psalm,
Breath smell of bourbon, voice gone calm.
The devil don’t knock when he feel invited,
God don’t speak when you feel one-sided.
Still, I pour out what I can’t control,
Let the smoke spell out my soul.
If grace is earned, I’ll pay in scars,
If peace is close, it ain’t too far.

“Ain’t about the saints or the sinners no more…
Just about whoever’s still awake
Tryin’ to love what’s left.”

Sunday at midnight,
Talkin’ to my shadow ‘bout gettin’ right.
No scripture, just streetlight,
And a little mercy on the mic tonight.
Sunday at midnight,
I ain’t holy, but I might try.

“Amen to the almosts… and peace to the in-betweens.”