ghosts and corpses for our travail
all our heroes and our villains
come at us with their sharpened knives.
There is power, wonder working power
in the blood of the Lamb.
On the edge of a great abyss,
lost at sea in a rowboat,
we are grieving, we are wounded,
we are wasted but we'll return.
And the blood of all our enemies,
it will never satisfy,
a crown of thorns on his head
the god of heaven, he will forgive.
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