When the best of my intentionsnWon't reach for their potentialnAnd the language of lovenHesitates to leave my tonguenI tire of trying to translatenWhat I am to what should benNo, the inside of this stained-glass cupnNever really does seem to come cleannnSo I stake out my pretensesnAnd keep washing white these fencesnBut the colors underneath themnKeep showing through againnI tire of trying to translatenWhat I know to what I donWon't You scrub this dusty window LordnLet Your light get throughnnWhen I come to You, I come cleannCan't pretend to any good in menWash me in Your love, I come cleannnSo you cover me with JesusnAnd You see me just like He isnAnd I am confident to tremble innYour presence once againnnWhen I come to You, I come cleannCan't pretend to any good in menWash me in Your blood, I come clean