| The room grew still
|
| As she made her way to Jesus
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| She stumbles through the tears that made her blind
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| She felt such pain
|
| Some spoke in anger
|
| Heard folks whisper
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| There’s no place here for her kind
|
| Still on she came
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| Through the shame that flushed her face
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| Until at last, she knelt before His feet
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| And though she spoke no words
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| Everything she said was heard
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| As she poured her love for the Master
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| From her box of alabaster
|
| And I’ve come to pour
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| My praise on Him
|
| Like oil from Mary’s alabaster box
|
| Don’t be angry if I wash his feet with my tears
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| And I dry them with my hair
|
| You weren’t there the night He found me
|
| You did not feel what I felt
|
| When he wrapped his love all around me and
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| You don’t know the cost of the oil
|
| In my alabaster box
|
| I can’t forget the way life used to be
|
| I was a prisoner to the sin that had me bound
|
| And I spent my days
|
| Poured my life without measure
|
| Into a little treasure box
|
| I’d thought I’d found
|
| Until the day when Jesus came to me
|
| And healed my soul
|
| With the wonder of His touch
|
| So now I’m giving back to Him
|
| All the praise He’s worthy of
|
| I’ve been forgiven
|
| And that’s why
|
| I love Him so much
|
| And I’ve come to pour
|
| My praise on Him
|
| Like oil from Mary’s alabaster box
|
| Don’t be angry if I wash his feet with my tears
|
| And dry them with my hair (my hair)
|
| You weren’t there the night Jesus found me
|
| You did not feel what I felt
|
| When He wrapped his loving arms around me and
|
| You don’t know the cost of the oil
|
| Oh, you don’t know the cost of my praise
|
| You don’t know the cost of the oil
|
| In my alabaster box
|
| Oh |