Because of that Friday,
Upon the cross,
Sinners like me have not a loss.
That you would die for someone like me,
paying the price for my treachery.
For it was I, standing in the crowd,
yelling "Crucify, Crucify!" so very loud.
I was the hand that held the whip,
the rope with the heavy, pointed led tip.
I was the soldier, beating you down.
Out of thorns I was making your crown.
I was the hand that held the nail,
the pain that I caused, only you can tell.
I was the person that killed my king.
My sin caused Him all His suffering.
But despite my wrong, evil ways,
all I had to do was pray.
Then you forgave me for all the pain,
it felt like I had come in from the rain;
into your gentle and loving arms.
Safe and happy and away from all harm.
Now my eternity is forever with You,
the Man that I beat, still so kind and true.
