The iron nails still held between my teeth,
The ringing hammer still clenched in my fist,
My hands still bleed from when I made your wreath,
As I throw the dice with a vicious twist,
Hoping for the robe of the dying king,
Cleaning the sword I plunged into your side,
Watching the crimson waterfall spilling,
Looking up at you whom I crucified.
The look you give convicts me in a breath,
For there is no hate, no condemning gaze,
Only forgiveness for the unjust death,
Of you I killed with my rebellious ways.
I murdered You, with senseless, thirsting glee,
And as You walked, I covered You in spit.
Yet You – You willingly died to free me;
You forgave and snatched me out of the pit.
Now I am free of the broken commands,
Made clean through the blood on my guilty hands.
