Blistered and Beaten
The path so dusty and dark,
Strugling and bruised
He walks on ahead.
The child of the lord
Now weakened by our hatred,
He carries our souls and sins
With the cross he drags behind him.
Now blood drippin from his hands,
He drops the cross
And looks at his mother,
Picking up the splintered wood
His hands are now pouring out blood.
Our eyes are wide open now,
Yet his are welded shut with blood and sweat.
Many people watch him as his god-like energy drains from his soul.
His mother cries for him,
But she is overwhelmed
And yet great-ful of her child's love and sacravice.
As he drops the cross made of wood to the site of his death,
He looks into the eyes of his people.
While he is being nailed to the cross,
He looks into the souls of his followers.
And as he is dying he prays for the people who watched him die.
And as he takes his last breath he forgives us,
Our souls are replenished with his many drops of blood.
And as we sin,
He lives and walks the path again.