On dogwood, ligaments were split, with spikes of steel hand forged, his fingers curled in agony, from pain he couldn't ignore, and yet he could have healed each breach that trapped him on that cross, he'd healed the lepers, and the blind, he raised dead men, thought lost. but underneath a crown of thorns, he suffered and he bled, and chose to endure endless aches, from hands and feet and head. Tears mixed with blood and sweat dripped down, as nature took it's course his back flayed raw from cat-o-nines, delivered with cruel force, And then they thrust a jagged point, speared deeply in his side, yet still he hung, no miracles to save life being denied, For he would heal ten trillion souls, the moment that he died, by taking all our sins with him, in a sacrificial tide. Each wound that leaked out suffering blended sins with his pure blood, erasing stains that evil leaves to fill our souls with crud. He bore our pain most graciously, Amazing grace for sure, for we'd have shared more pain in hell, if his death had not brought cures. In one last gasp he healed all men, as long as we'd believe, that his agony was all for us and then his love recieve, A simple path to heaven's gates, no God would make it tough, except upon his only son, who died and did enough, yet still most people fail to see, the sacrifice he made, I'm sure in heaven Jesus weeps, for those he'll never save Don't join them in your grave, accept this gift he gave.
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