Good Friday

It is coming

The passion is coming

Blood will be shed

A kiss will condemn

The True Godhead

Thorns will pierce

The Holy Flesh

A crown of pain and sin

Love for the Father

“His will be done”

Carry the wood

Carry the wood

Salty tears streak Her face

The Mother cries in exile

He fades away

Tongues will speak perverse things

Thrice afore the cock crows

The servant sins

Hung in a line of torture

Nailed to the tree

One spits foully beside him

The other asks

Remember me when you fulfill salvation

The curtain is slashed

The sky is black

“Into your hands I commend my Spirit”

Gone