Cross eyed forever.

and there i stood
before the man
who works with wood

a cross reflecting
in my eyes
while soldiers
put a sword
into his side
out of the wound some water came
dripping down in showers
of a healing rain


as a looked up
i saw his hands
i saw the nails
i saw the lamb
i heard him say
one last command

“ into your hand it is...
that i command my spirit....”

there wasn’t any chance that before he died
this man would leave the wood
and so he met his final hour
did he really close his eyes forgood?

and afterwards they took him down
and laid his body in the ground
death had conquered to enslave
but to be shure .....
they rolled a stone before the cave

and there i stood
before his grave
wondering how i ever
would be saved. . . .

What a mess i got myself into
what transgressions i’ve just been through
what a journey i begun
truly new under the son

i don’t believe in selfsalvation
i’m crosseyed here forgood
i don’t believe in miracles
i’m saved by him who works with wood