Sixty seven years have gone.

My trophies lined upon the wall.

I can't even count them all, Lord.

Some are for accomplishment,

And some for fame and wars I've fought

And some for reasons I forget.
 

In my younger driven days

I fought for fortune, fame and praise

Battling all who stood in my way, Lord.

Now all the victories of the past

And trophies given for conquest

Have such a hollow loneliness.
 

I feel led what to do-

Offer a sacrifice to you

Of all I've done and all I'll ever do, Lord.

I'm puzzled that you don't receive

My gift. Oh. But now I see.

All you really want is me.