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I saw His eyes after they bound Him |
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I saw the blood drops on the courtyard |
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The highest priests and men of the law |
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Began to call forth the false witnesses |
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They questioned Him, He gave no answer |
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Could He not see these men could free Him? |
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They struck his face, no, that's too poetic |
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They punched Him till their fringes were covered in blood |
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(Prophecy, Prophecy) |
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My stomach turned to rot |
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Why didn't He stay down? |
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Why didn't He defend Himself? |
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I was helpless like my sweet Jesus |
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The more they struck His face |
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The more it seemed that He had won |
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The morning sun, the sound of roosters |
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As Jesus stared right through the government |
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I saw His eyes amidst this pageant |
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Not filled with fear, but more like pity |
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He spoke few words, choosing them wisely |
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It seemed like calculated suicide |
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The water splashed out of the basin |
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As all the crowd converged and screamed aloud |
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(Crucify! Crucify!) |
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Carries His cross, falls on His face, back on His feet |
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(Dust in His wounds, Dirt in His eyes) |
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The nails, the nails, the nails |
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NO! NO! NO! |
