In the first hour of the day
Our Lord, He finally knows that
Like a murderer, He'll be judged
By that heathen, Pontius Pilate
Pilate shall refuse the blame
And wash his hands in water
Then the innocent condemned
Sent off to the slaughter
In the third hour God's own Son
Flails and scourges fled him
On his head a thorny cross
That the soldiers had made him
Dressed in rags and mockery
Oh, they beat him and deride him
And the cross of His own death,
the cross of His own death
He'll drag along be side Him
In the sycthar, naked and cold,
On a cross, they stiffed him
As his blood spilled down,
he prayed for his father's sea of hands
One thief laughed and one thief wept,
While the sun withdrew its light,
the sun withdrew its light
Jesus screamed by our nine
In his mouth a bitter gall
Finally he gave up his ghost,
the mountains disassembled
An d the veils were rent in twain,
the veils were rent in twain
And the whole world trembled
Dark and sudden the night time fell
The mocking crowds were scattered,
Jesus' sides were torn by spears,
their bones were shattered.
Still the blood and wa ter flows,
and still their mocking laughter,
Thus befell a son of man,
And he fell, and we fell,