Brave

Built on a marching, anthemic pulse, this song turns the body itself into an instrument of praise — feet that "march like thunder," lips shaped for wonder, lungs that breathe what it calls Holy Spirit fire. The central confession arrives early and repeats like a creed: standing on love, knowing identity because of who God is. From there the lyrics move outward into a journey, with the singer promising to follow wherever the Spirit leads and insisting on one repeated comfort — never walking alone. Fear gets named directly and then answered, not with bravado but with borrowed strength: no height or depth can shake the speaker because God's hands hold firm, and God's strength becomes the singer's own. The bridge strips things to a chant — rise up, stand on faith, the Spirit alive inside — before the chorus returns one last time. The title word lands as a calling rather than a feeling: bravery here is something the singer is summoned into, not something mustered alone. It's a song about courage that comes from presence, and about identity that holds because it rests on something steadier than circumstance.