| Wonder how it would be to be the great Redeemer
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| the one to bestow upon you life and death
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| the one to poison you when you’re down
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| or to be the one to hand you the crownofthorns
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| when your hands are sore
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| (and) to save you from the everything you care for
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| Are you bitter when you see how pale you are?
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| Do you feel hate without direction?
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| A kind of seed inside you that never blossoms
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| It is at the gallows end one forgets that everything
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| has to have a greater meaning
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| An unrecognisable call drags you towards the unspoken word
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| to suffer Martyrdom for the others
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| The Saviour cut off your wings, somehow just to remind you that He exists
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| Those who wait for His salt with open wounds have a way to go the shadows of your must rest (first)
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| Though I ask, why do you dig your own grave when others do it for you?
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| The force behind the hit can not be mistaken
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| 'cause He’s the saviour with magnanimity and
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| …a light in the dark
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| Maybe it is intimidating more than lighting the way
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| where is the road going? |
| To a place where you can wash the blood of your
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| hands?
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| Where did the knowing go… With a saviour to transcendental kingdoms
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| or to the valley of the forgotten?
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| behind the vault of the sky’s mystery lies a dream
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| damned or saved, how could we ever know? |