Back To The Table v.2

Christian hip-hop, cinematic hardcore rap, double-time lyrical rap, boom bap with modern drums

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Seat reserved.
Name engraved.
Greatest invitation ever sent
And it came signed in blood.

Back to the table, I staggered in battered, ashamed of the stains on my sleeve
Thought I was barred by the bars I was carrying, sentenced by memories
But He said sit, let Me serve you, I purchased your worth at the tree
I broke bread with betrayers and doubters, so don’t tell Me you’re too far from Me

I tried to earn what was gifted, I fought with my pride like a pit bull
I starved at the door of abundance, still begging like crumbs were a ritual
He flipped the script, set the cloth, laid the cup where the blood makes it literal
Fruit of the vine, new wine in the Kingdom, the promise is future and physical

I ran from the seat with the saints, I hid in the dark with my guilt
He lit up the room with a towel on His arm like, “Watch how forgiveness is built”
Every denial I spoke, every failure I wrote, He erased with a will
If grace had a voice, it would sound like a gavel that slams and says “Paid—case is killed”

I tried to crawl when He called me to come
I tried to hide, He said “Son”
I tried to bleed for my sins
He said “Sit—this is done”

Back to the table—use My table
Set the table—celebrate, faithful
Greatest invitation, sealed forever
Fruit of the vine till we drink together

Back to the table—no more labels
Lost was found, dead now able
Bread was broken, chains were severed
Back to the table—now and forever

I’m not a guest, I’m adopted, the chair never folded away
From upper room whispers to thunderous Kingdom, the feast is on holy delay
He said I won’t drink till the day it’s fulfilled—read the words, they obey
Future reunion, reunion with Him, every tear getting toasted away

I ate with wolves and pretenders, learned hunger from counterfeit plates
But this cup hits different—new covenant written in crimson and grace
I couldn’t cleanse what I carried, no soap for the soul that I hate
So He washed me and fed me and crowned me and called me His own by the weight of His name

This is the supper of mercy, the seat of the scarred and restored
Where prodigals walk in with nothing and leave with the keys to the door
If hell had a witness, it trembles whenever the bread is outpoured
‘Cause death lost its appetite starving while Life keeps inviting some more

Breathe—
Remember the cup.
Breathe—
Remember the blood.
Breathe—
He said “I will not” till the Kingdom arrives…
That means there’s a day when we will—all of us.

I was unworthy, unclean, unseen, undone, under the law I was crushed
He flipped the verdict, inverted the curse, resurrected my trust
Table prepared in the presence of enemies, famine don’t matter to us
‘Cause when the Host is the Healer, the feast is a battlefield hush

No more scraps, no more shame-eating dinners alone
No more seats in the back, I’m a son, that’s the throne
Every drop from the vine is a vow that He owns
Every sip is a promise that says “I’m not done—welcome home”

Back to the table—use My table
Set the table—celebrate, faithful
Greatest invitation, sealed forever
Fruit of the vine till we drink together

Back to the table—hands are lifted
Broken hearts now remitted
When He comes and the cup is raised
We’ll drink it new—face to face

Matthew twenty-six, twenty-nine
He said He’s waiting.
So am I.

Pull up a chair.
We’re going Back To The Table.

3389/7500

Copyright©️2025 by Omar Rivera Colon. All Rights Reserved. Seat reserved. Name engraved. Greatest invitation ever sent And it came signed in blood. Back to the table, I staggered in battered, ashamed of the stains on my sleeve Thought I was barred by the bars I was carrying, sentenced by memories But He said sit, let Me serve you, I purchased your worth at the tree I broke bread with betrayers and doubters, so don’t tell Me you’re too far from Me I tried to earn what was gifted, I fought with my pride like a pit bull I starved at the door of abundance, still begging like crumbs were a ritual He flipped the script, set the cloth, laid the cup where the blood makes it literal Fruit of the vine, new wine in the Kingdom, the promise is future and physical I ran from the seat with the saints, I hid in the dark with my guilt He lit up the room with a towel on His arm like, “Watch how forgiveness is built” Every denial I spoke, every failure I wrote, He erased with a will If grace had a voice, it would sound like a gavel that slams and says “Paid—case is killed” I tried to crawl when He called me to come I tried to hide, He said “Son” I tried to bleed for my sins He said “Sit—this is done” Back to the table—use My table Set the table—celebrate, faithful Greatest invitation, sealed forever Fruit of the vine till we drink together Back to the table—no more labels Lost was found, dead now able Bread was broken, chains were severed Back to the table—now and forever I’m not a guest, I’m adopted, the chair never folded away From upper room whispers to thunderous Kingdom, the feast is on holy delay He said I won’t drink till the day it’s fulfilled—read the words, they obey Future reunion, reunion with Him, every tear getting toasted away I ate with wolves and pretenders, learned hunger from counterfeit plates But this cup hits different—new covenant written in crimson and grace I couldn’t cleanse what I carried, no soap for the soul that I hate So He washed me and fed me and crowned me and called me His own by the weight of His name This is the supper of mercy, the seat of the scarred and restored Where prodigals walk in with nothing and leave with the keys to the door If hell had a witness, it trembles whenever the bread is outpoured ‘Cause death lost its appetite starving while Life keeps inviting some more Breathe— Remember the cup. Breathe— Remember the blood. Breathe— He said “I will not” till the Kingdom arrives… That means there’s a day when we will—all of us. I was unworthy, unclean, unseen, undone, under the law I was crushed He flipped the verdict, inverted the curse, resurrected my trust Table prepared in the presence of enemies, famine don’t matter to us ‘Cause when the Host is the Healer, the feast is a battlefield hush No more scraps, no more shame-eating dinners alone No more seats in the back, I’m a son, that’s the throne Every drop from the vine is a vow that He owns Every sip is a promise that says “I’m not done—welcome home” Back to the table—use My table Set the table—celebrate, faithful Greatest invitation, sealed forever Fruit of the vine till we drink together Back to the table—hands are lifted Broken hearts now remitted When He comes and the cup is raised We’ll drink it new—face to face Matthew twenty-six, twenty-nine He said He’s waiting. So am I. Pull up a chair. We’re going Back To The Table.

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