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