Nailed to the cross, and thorns for his crown.
While his followers all stare, holding their frowns.
He hangs there so silent, the thorns in his head.
Christ can be heard, while his blood is shed.
From his head and his sides.
From his hand, and from his feet.
From the cuts on his back, but no tears will he weep.
The pain is now numb, his heart has grown weak.
His eyes slowly shut, as he hears it's last beat.
They carry him away, and in the cold tomb he lay.
Some people did cry, but most walked away.
But they didn't know, for they didn't pray.
That Jesus came back from the dead the third day.
His tomb is now empty, the talk was a buzz.
But two women knew where Jesus Chirst was.
He sit on the right of God our dear father.
Listen closely, for our prayer will not bother.
He'll one day come back for all who believe...
but will leave for Satan, for all whom deceive.
(Happy Easter)
Died For Our Sins.
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