The Artist Bible: Easter عينة

I am a fugitive of the law The outlaw of Gethsemane The light of the world Yet darkness overtakes me Let this cup pass Don't let them take me for This flesh is real These lungs inhaling and My nerves aren't impervious to wood, nails, and hammer My spirit is willing but this flesh is so weak The inside is spilling but what holds it is bleak Like this cup that sits before me I can't lift to drink Why must the chalice be so sour for the wine to be so sweet Why must I be enslaved to torture for her to be free Yet not as I will but let your will be For I can't make her mine without proposing And I can't propose without taking a knee So For you I kneel For you I die Your will be done Just accept my bride I am a culprit on trial I created the universe Defiler of the firmament The stylist of violet the compiler of pilate I abdicated sin and lived perfect Yet to these produced powers I fall under judgement I look out and I see my beloved Those of my father's covenant Yhose for whom I was made incarnate Standing in this square of government Yelling "crucify him" to their governor I came to be their comforter By becoming their prisoner Yet They call me a swindler The orthodox pillager A slandering sinister The libel listener As I heard crucifixion become the crowd's signature I saw a chapel start to form around the perimeter Soon every person in attendance became a contributor To the marriage service being administered But we can't be wed without a minister So May Pilate give me away And it can't be binding without witnesses But what a crowd gathered today For you I'm judged For you I'll die Disowned by my people to accept my bride I am a convict on death row Marching to execution My tool of death they place on my back Like an inmate forced to wire his own chair for electrocution Sinful, no, but guilty, yes Guilty of creating revolution Not one of violence or death But one that challenged religious, political, and social institutions For persuing righteousness I fell under persecution The creator condemned to crucifixion by a created prosecution They sentenced me to their own restitution By handing me the world's solution Making me the substitution For the punishment of pollution Taking me through dusty streets to prove that their father is not a God of retribution But one of second chances and resolution So I march across this created rock With cross embossed as he had planned For I can't take your hand unless I walk down the aisle And I can't take the stand unless dressed in wedding style So may these streets be the way And let these beams be my suit and tie As I walk to you on our wedding day The nails, the hammer, the crucified For you I march For you I'll die I take up my cross to accept my bride I am a criminal on the cross I don't even get my own hill for this sentence But I have to share it with these ordinary thieves For an ordinary thing is this instance We hang, they wait We writhe, they play Casting wages for my garments Making payments as I make their payment Not just theirs but my disciples who despise this arrangment Those to whom I hang for entertainment And those to whom my hanging is their estrangement I live and die for their containment in my home For grace is attainment in my fold For I have proposed and I have kneeled I have disclosed the location of our nuptual deal I have composed myself with cross suit and zeal And now I have transposed iron stakes into our wedding seal For we cannot be wed without a band So let these spikes be our rings You'll slip mine first into these hands But you'll have to wait 3 days before yours I bring For you the nails For you I'm crucified For you I'm forsaken Now you're an acceptable bride