Who? What? Where? When? What does the future hold?
These questions make a prisoner of me
They keep me from being all that I could be
Anxiety holds me back from being bold
“It will go wrong” or so my mind is told
Though I try I can’t seem to find the key
To unlock and free the self-assured me
To be confident would be finer than gold
I wonder why I’m so often afraid
Worrying has never helped anyone
But when I try to stop, it still can invade
Yet in the end, anxiety won’t have won
The victor will be the greatest of all aid
Anxiety, I’d like you to meet: the Son.