I woke up in the quiet hum,
Coffee steam and a rising sun.
Last night’s ghosts still hang in the air,
But they don’t scare me like they done.

Ash on the counter, name in the glass,
All my yesterdays piled in the past.
But I found a spark in the smallest thing —
The way the light hit my wedding ring.

Maybe grace don’t come in floods,
Maybe it’s a slow drip, cleanin’ the mud.

Matchstrike morning, flicker and fade,
Faith ain’t a fire, it’s the heat that stays.
Burns just enough to keep my hands warm,
Through another day that’s barely born.

Car tires hiss on the wet concrete,
Someone prays to a radio beat.
I whisper thanks, just soft enough,
For no one else to call my bluff.

The world don’t need to hear me preach,
Just to see that I still reach.
For every doubt that ever stayed,
I light a match — and call it grace.

Maybe faith don’t roar or shine,
Maybe it’s just keepin’ time.

Matchstrike morning, flicker and fade,
Faith ain’t a fire, it’s the heat that stays.
Burns just enough to keep my hands warm,
Through another day that’s barely born.

It don’t blaze, it don’t blind,
It just keeps me half-alive.
Little spark in the gray,
Still enough to find my way.

Matchstrike morning, trembling flame,
Still here, still whisperin’ my name.
Burn slow, burn small, but don’t burn out —
That’s what this whole life’s about.