White linen wraps a broken body,
A traitor bought the Son of Man.
He who used to reign in glory,
Now leaks the blood which stains their hands.
The one who took the silver coins,
And those who ran away,
Accusations lead to empty words,
Three nails choke out the light of day.
He taught, they listened,
He prayed, they slept.
He was beaten, they deserted Him,
He died, and then they wept.
But against all odds the sun will rise,
Each morning dawns anew,
Despite the tears of the long, long night,
No matter what we do.
They told their lies, He spoke His truth,
They left, but He remained,
They fled, but He ran after them,
To wash what they had stained.
The linen cloths are empty now,
Of their chaos and their strife,
Thirty pieces bought His death,
But His blood, it bought their life.
